


Dial 999, I’m on fire

by heavensfallingaroundus, phoenix_rose (phoenix_ascended)



Category: Sirens (UK), The Smoke (TV), The Smoke/Sirens
Genre: Alley Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ashley Greenwick's Catholic upbringing, Ashley Greenwick’s canonical red ropes, Bath Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon-typical snark, Deepthroating, Descriptions of Homophobia, Dom/sub, Domestic Kink, Edging, Everyone has a happy ending, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Queer community looking out for each other, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Soft boys being soft, Unrealistically Good First Times, canonical gay character, canonically sub!Ashley Greenwick, descriptions of canon-typical violence, descriptions of transphobia, dom!Dennis Severs, none of the characters are transphobic or homophobic, original nonbinary and trans characters, virgin!Dennis Severs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23278204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_ascended/pseuds/phoenix_rose
Summary: Never in his life did Ashley Greenwick think he'd get sick of casual sex. He's had them all, done it all, tried it all — well, excepttopping, Jesus, you have to draw the linesomewhere, don't you?And yet, here he is — gone 25, and antsy for something, well,meaningful.Being a paramedic means you don’t get to meet too many people who are available for long-term relationships. Or, at least, not ones who aren’t injured. And he’s had enough of police officers. And fellow paramedics are off the menu.But one day, at a fire, he meets afirefighter. Dennis Severs — fierce, rough, sad-eyed Dennis Severs — and he wants nothing more than to give himself to the man. Body and soul.
Relationships: Ashley Greenwick/Dennis Severs, Taron Egerton/Richard Madden
Comments: 148
Kudos: 104





	1. Emergency, which service?

**Author's Note:**

> A while back, like many of you, both of us went through a phase of watching absolutely everything either Richard or Taron had done. Phoenix had watched _The Smoke_ (Taron as a young firefighter with a dark history) and C had watched _Sirens_ (Richard as a hot gay paramedic with a canonical subby side). We raved at each other and swapped shows and raved some more. And then we realised that the obvious answer was to write a crossover fic. And here ‘tis.
> 
> Phoenix wants to thank jackhowad on tumblr for supplying a copy of the Smoke episode 3 which wasn’t anywhere online that I could find at that point. And Richard for that cute thing he does with his fingers in front of his lips when he’s nervous. And Taron for those soulful eyes. And the producers of The Smoke and Sirens for the naked Taron-in-the-shower scene and the tied-up Richard-in-the-closet scene respectively. And of course C for hours and hours of wonderful transpacific late night gushing over our boys.
> 
> C would like to thank Richard Madden for looking absolutely smoking (get it, get it) in an EMT uniform, biting his lip *way* too many times, and overall playing gay like he’s not even actually playing. Which. You know. God, how did I assume he was straight for six whole years? Shame on me. Along the same lines—dang isn’t Taron Egerton a natural at playing the sad-faced estate boy with daddy issues, but at the same time conveying so much big-dick energy that it becomes difficult to find a place for it. Well, I guess we found the place for it in this fic, then, innit. Thank you, Phoenix, for not giving up on me with this. I genuinely think this is a much needed crossover. Bring it the heck on.
> 
> Originally, we were going to wait until we had the whole story finished before we started posting but these are dark times and so we’re sharing early. We do have the story plotted out, but we can’t guarantee a posting schedule at this point in time.

“Oi, Ashley!” says Stu, “Head out of the Year’s Hottest Firefighters calendar, yeah? We have an actual fire we’re s’posed to attend.”

Ashley regretfully folds Mr July away — nicely built, just a little sweaty, charcoal down one cheek for effect. “Never know yer luck in a big city, eh?”

“You wish,” says Rachid, as he swings into the back of the rig. 

Ashley straps in and nods at him as Stu flicks on the siren. “I do, son. Every night, on my knees next to my bed. I wish and wish and wish, but so far, no luck.”

“You’re on your knees in the wrong place, mate, that’s the problem,” says Stu. “You want to try Heaven — I hear good things about that place for your lot.”

“I’ve tol’ ye before, I’m done with all that,” says Ashley. “I don’t just want Mister Right Now…”

“You want Mister Right for Real,” say Rachid and Stu in unison. 

“Yes, we know,” continues Rachid. “You never fucking shut up about it.”

“How’s Sarah, Rachid?” asks Stu, feigning innocence.

“Oh, fuck off,” says Rachid.

“Still hasn’t decided on the venue, then?” asks Ashley, back on safe turf, nodding gratefully at Stu for changing the topic. The rest of the ride is taken up with giving Rachid advice about flower arrangements and cake tastings, and they’re there in no time.

The building’s still on fire when they arrive, but the fire chief points them to a row of teens sat up on a low brick wall wrapped in blankets, and they get to it. The place has seen better days, and that was before one wall fell in when the cladding went up. It’s an old factory — big and gray, every single window smashed. Covered in graffiti on the outside and he can just imagine the grimy runaways huddled on piss-stained mattresses on the concrete floor on the inside. Ugly as all hell, and now, well, a step closer to hell itself — flames lapping away at two sides of it and thick, evil-smelling smoke rising all around and forming a tall column, pitch black melting with the already depressingly grey sky over their heads.

Ashley chooses one of the poor fuckers at random, kneels in front of the boy and asks how he’s doing — only to be flipped off, which is charming as, but completely expected with a doss house like this. 

“Well,” says Ashley, “Since you’re hunky dory, do you want tae tell me who _does_ need help?” 

The boy just grunts, points towards a mate, and gets up, muttering under his breath something that distinctly sounds like _wanker_ as he walks away. Again, absolutely delightful. Shame, though — he was kind of cute, easy on the eye. Ashley vividly remembers having one of those, once, when he was 17 himself. Fun time, alcopops and E. Weird lingo. He’s still trying to remember the name of the kid he’d fooled around with all those years ago while he’s introducing himself to the boy’s mate, a fat teenager with mild burns on his arm, and having trouble catching his breath.

He gets broken out of his reverie when a couple of stocky firefighters come through the entryway to the building, smoke still billowing through it out into the darkening sky, a body slung over each shoulder. “Last ones, I reckon,” says the taller one, and deposits his load in front of Stu. “Unconscious, but she was talking not two minutes ago,” he says. 

“I’ve got her now,” says Stu and waves the man away.

The shorter one is lowering the body on his shoulder more delicately in front of Ashley. “Um,” he says, eloquently, staring a little.

Ashley doesn’t look up for more than a moment, still patching up the arm of the kid in front of him. “Spit it out, lad,” he says.

The girl he was carrying moans and then coughs as she touches the asphalt. “Uh, smoke inhalation, got a cut on her leg,” says the man, and Ashley has to look again — he’s just a kid himself, really, but _jeez_ , he’s built, and not bad looking. “Er, I’m Dennis,” says the bloke, and then turns as the fire chief yells out, “Asbo, stop fucking around!” He lifts a hand in farewell and jogs back to the truck, listens for a second and then heads towards the building.

Ashley gawps after him. Tries very hard not to imagine the lad’s body under that uniform because seriously — his _shoulders_. Jesus fuck. And he just introduced himself. Like, no one does that unless they’re interested, right? He’s not misreading that? Fucking _oozing_ confidence. It’s very fucking distracting.

“Oi, Curly,” says the kid in front of him. “Can I go?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.” Ashley turns to focus on the girl on the ground but she’s buggered off — he can see her for two seconds before she ducks around a corner. Some people are just ungrateful sods, he thinks.

“I’ve got one loaded and bagged ready for reception,” calls Rachid, one hand pumping the bag in question. “You two coming or what?” 

Ashley looks around to see if he can spot Dennis again, but he’s nowhere to be seen, so he heads over to the rig and climbs behind the wheel as Stuart levers himself into the passenger seat.

“D’ye see that probie?” he asks, trying for casual.

“The one making eyes at you?” mocks Stuart. “Yes, loverboy. We all did.”

“Bit young for you, in’he?” says Rachid. “You could get ‘im to wear ‘is school uniform for you.”

“Shut it, Rachid,” laughs Ashley, embarrassed. “Half yer age plus seven, right? So long as he’s 19 or older, I’m in the clear.”

* * *

If you’d asked Ashley a year ago, he would have said there was no such thing as being sick of casual sex. He was a fucking _maestro_ of it. Grindr, Scruff, Growlr, Chappy, Squirt — he’s been through them all, and when he ran out of volunteers, he paid for it on FindandGrind.com. He’s done it everywhere — his place, their place, public parks, dirty old beats, hospitals. Churches. _Obviously_.

But eventually, he found to his horror that he was fantasising about coffee dates and making breakfast the morning after. Of baking bread on Sundays. Going for walks hand-in-hand on sunny days, and curling up on the couch in front of crappy rom-coms sipping hot cocoa when it’s raining cats and dogs. He’s never wanted that, not once, not ever. And for a while there… well, for a while, it was all he could think about.

So, when he starts daydreaming about what he’ll say to Dennis next time he sees him, he’s utterly flummoxed. Every line he comes up with is designed for a quick tumble in the stock room or a handie behind the rig after a shift, not for something that leads to the image he can’t seem to shake: him on his knees, collared, naked, while Dennis strokes his hair — it’s so intensely intimate, so deeply personal. He has absolutely no idea how you’re supposed to get to that point with a person. 

He’s not unfamiliar with bondage — humiliating episodes where he’s needed to be rescued by Rachid aside — and he’s had his share of scenes, but they all felt transactional, empty; a cursory flogger wielded by a desultory hand and limp insults that felt scripted and hollow. He’s been to enough clubs of a particular type in London that he’s seen what he craves — that moment someone arches their neck back under the touch of their Dom, every fibre of their being vibrating towards that power, that gift. _That’s_ what he wants.

And Dennis fucking exudes that sense of power, danger, strength. He’s not at all what Ashley was imagining — had spent the last six months working himself up, sweaty and panting, to the image of a hot daddy with a silver streak, mid-30s, early 40s maybe, holding him down and making him beg for it, not this rough kid with a shaved head and — _god_ , Ashley palms his cock through his damp boxers on the bed — _tattoos_ all over, he bets. Sharp black lines. Maybe a quote from something, and he’ll make him kiss it — _yeah, that feels good, his hand in his pants, on his dick now_ — one hand in Ashley’s hair, holding him down, and then he’ll shove him back, straddle him, a hand across Ashley’s throat, saying — and _fuck_ , even before he thinks of _what_ he’d be saying, whatever stupid nothings he was about to imagine, _mine_ or _you belong to me_ or _~~i love you~~_ — he’s spilling hot across his own fist.

As he lies breathless in his sheets, it occurs to him that none of that even slightly solves the problem of what Ashley is supposed to say to the man next time they see each other in the real world. _Fuck._

* * *

He sees the guy a few times over the next few weeks — at fires, as they’re arriving at a bomb scare — but they’re always on opposite sides. That, or it’s too much of a crowd — coppers everywhere and no room to work, let alone make eyes at someone in front of an entire crew. 

They finally get a moment alone over a tangled horror of a car wreck, the firefighters freeing Ashley’s patient with the jaws of life, cutting through metal like butter. Stuart’s taken the poor sucker on the gurney back to the truck and Ashley’s packing up the gear when he sees polished black boots in front of him and looks up to see a smirk on a baby face that has no business looking that hot. 

“’Ello again,” says Dennis, looking Ashley up and down. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Car crashes, fires, gang fights — wherever there’s mayhem, that’s where you’ll find me.”

“That girl turn up all right? The other night?”

“Couldn’t tell you, I’m afraid,” Ashley says, standing up, kit finally packed to his satisfaction. “She absconded not two seconds after you did.”

“Well, I didn’t have a choice. Definitely would’ve stayed if I could’ve.”

“And now I’m the one who can’t stay,” says Ashley, mournfully looking over at Stuart making increasingly rude gestures at him. “Maybe we can get a drink sometime?” That sounded way less daft now that it’s actually out in the world, he thinks; in his head, that approach had been dismissed as twee and cliche. 

“I’d like that,” says Dennis, warmly. Is the boy blushing? Fuck, Ashley is in trouble with this one. He grabs a marker from his pocket and writes his number on Dennis’s hand. That’s a move that’s almost second-nature to him but all the same, he ducks his head as he turns to go, so Dennis doesn’t see his own flush, excited by the risk he’s taking, and the anticipation. “Wait!” calls Dennis, when he’s halfway there.

Ashley turns back around, walks backwards towards the ambulance. “Can’t! Got a patient!”

“I don’t know your name, though!” calls the lad, phone in his hand.

Ashley laughs, even as he’s kicking himself. “Ashley!” he calls back. And before he even hits the rig, his phone has buzzed in his pocket and he looks around again to see Dennis with his hand up to his head, thumb pointing to his ear and pinky pointing to his mouth in that universal gesture, and the kid mouths, _call me_ , and Ashley genuinely thinks he’s going to die before this thing goes much further. Damned cocky teenagers. 

* * *

They arrange to meet at a quiet pub that’s _just_ far enough away that you could safely describe it as ‘not in the area’. So, Ashley figures that Dennis isn’t out to his station and doesn’t want to be seen on a _date_ with a _man_. That’s a bit of a pity, since — assuming this goes well — Ashley was really hoping to show him off. And it’s been a long time since Ashley had any kind of shame about who he is or what he wants and he’s not about to be anyone’s dirty little secret. At the same time, he remembers his first year on the job, not sure what he could or couldn’t say, not sure whether the laws about discrimination actually held up to the reality. He’s willing to give the lad the benefit of the doubt.

He spots Dennis already ensconced in a booth up back, pint in front of him. Takes the opportunity to observe him unnoticed for a tick. His hair is even shorter than it was the last time Ashley saw him, buzz cut showing the lovely shape of his skull. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, bulky pecs warping the red and blue lightning bolt printed across it that immediately makes Ashley think of Bowie, ponder that he’d never in a million years thought Dennis’d be a fan, and decide he likes him that much more for it. His eyes are sad, impenetrable, full of secrets. His lips are wet from the beer, glistening in the dim light of the pub. Ashley is almost sure that, if he concentrates hard enough, he can taste the drops of lager lingering on them. Then Dennis looks up and sees Ashley, and the melancholy disappears like it was never there, like dark clouds evaporating and only sunshine and blue skies remain. 

“Cheers, mate,” Ashley says as he slides next to Dennis. Dennis lifts his glass and clinks it against Ashley’s. 

Dennis laughs nervously. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.” He looks down at his beer.

“It’s a matter of principle for me,” Ashley grins. “I’m a man of my word.”

“Rare,” says Dennis, with an answering smirk. He swigs his beer.

“So,” says Ashley. “What’s your story?”

“What do you wanna know?” His hand twitches towards his smokes, nervous, and then back into his lap like he’s decided it’s too early for that.

“Everything,” says Ash, open and raw. It’s weirdly true. 

“Leave it out,” says Dennis. “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, there.”

“Try me. Why don’t ye start with where you grew up? Or if that’s too complicated, tell me what bands you fancy.”

“Gawd, wouldn’t know where to start wit’ music. Whatever’s on the radio, me.” He pauses, takes a long draft of the lager. “Grew up here in London, on an estate. Pretty standard, really. Don’t want to talk about it. You? Not from ‘round here, obviously.”

“Grew up in Elderslie. Near Glasgow. Near broke my mother’s heart when I came out, but she’s gotten over it.” Dennis is looking at him curiously now, something flashing across his eyes and gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“I can’t even imagine telling my ma,” he says. “You amaze me wi’ that. Just so… comfortable wi’ yourself. Your crew knows too?”

“Aye,” says Ashley. “Yours don’t, then?”

“I think maybe they suspect. Since I haven’t brought a girl around. They organised a stripper for my last birthday, though, so maybe they think I’m just shy.”

“And are ye?” asks Ashley. “Shy?”

Dennis looks straight at him, fierce for a moment. “Not when I know what I want,” he says, voice dropping down into the fucking sub-terranean cellar that’s probably under the pub.

 _Jesus._ Ashley feels a stab of sheer lust go through him, to be pinned by that gaze, at this man’s mercy. _Fuck_. He doesn’t trust his voice for a moment, takes the opportunity to finish his beer. He swallows.

He’s incredibly aware of their legs not-quite-touching under the table. His palms are sweating. Then Dennis blinks and it’s like he’s put his armour back on, the mask slipping over his face, blank and honestly a little terrifying.

Ashley scrambles for something to say. “So, er, how long have you been with the Watch?”

“Year and a bit,” says Dennis.

“You always wanted to be a firefighter? Like when you were little?”

“Nah, it’s complicated. You?”

“I wanted to be a nurse,” says Ashley, thinking back. “But that wasn’t a job for little boys, according to my da, so…”

“You always wanted to help people though, eh?”

“Yeah,” says Ashley. “Since my gran got sick when I was small.”

“The worst thing about my job is handing them off to you,” says Dennis. “Not knowing how it turns out.”

“Yeah?” says Ashley. 

“Yeah, like that girl the other night, who ran off. Has she got family worrying ‘bout ‘er? What’s she doin’ in a place like that, eh? Is she gonna be okay?”

“Who’s she to you, then?”

“Nobody. I dunno. She just looks familiar, like. Can’t place her, though. Reminds me of kids I grew up with.”

“Caring too much is a work safety hazard, if you ask me. Sometimes it’s better not to know whether they make it.”

“Oof,” says Dennis, miming a belly blow. “Yeah, look, I might not have the best self-preservation instinct sometimes, let’s be honest.”

They smile at each other and then Dennis offers to get the next round. 

There’s a moment when Ashley would usually have suggested they head back to his place, fuck like rabbits and pretend he didn’t care, but there’s that niggling feeling he’s had since day fucking one — that he wants more. Something about the darkness behind Dennis’s smile, something about the way he ducks his head when he’s embarrassed, that makes Ash want to get to know him better. And he still has no idea how to behave like a goddamn human being, so when the barkeep calls last drinks, it’s Dennis who suggests they go for a walk. Ashley’s hand keeps straying close to Dennis’s fingers — this yearning to touch, to be touched. He aches with it. He has no feckin’ clue how to start that conversation again.

And then, under a streetlamp, in the quiet dark, the greenery of a garden on the other side of an iron railing glistening slightly in the damp early hours of the morning, Dennis turns to him suddenly, says, “So. Hey… um…” and then leans up ever so slightly on his toes and is kissing him, a little clumsy, not sure what to do with his hands for a minute, and then grasping Ashley’s jaw firmly and holding him there and snogging him thoroughly before he pulls back, grins like he’s won the lottery, shoves his hands in the front of his hoodie and jogs away, chipper, calling back, “See you soon, yeah?”

And Ashley finds himself running his fingertips across his lips, watching Dennis go — the first time in his memory that he hasn’t fucked on the first date. Wonders never cease.


	2. Check for choking hazards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi! This took a tiny bit longer than expected — it’s only been two weeks but to be fair, March was 97 days long in Coronatime.
> 
> The reason it took longer was because we added extra slow-burn at the beginning of this chapter so you should actually be thanking us. 
> 
> Neither of us are very patient though so while *they* have to live through the slow burn, *you* don’t. We absolutely earn that rating in the second half of this. 
> 
> We hope you’re all staying safe at home and reading lots of fic…
> 
> PS: I (Phoenix) would like to credit/thank C for the frankly sinful blasphemy peppered throughout the sex although apparently I started it with the rude reference to Jesus. You’ll see when you get there. Honestly, I blame whoever created that scene with Ashley in the church toilets while his mum’s at confession...

It’s easily two more weeks before they see each other in person again — their shifts just don’t seem to line up, or it’s hectic as hell and they’re exhausted, one, or the other, or both. They fall into a habit, though, of texting every day. 

Little things. 

Dennis’s deep and abiding hatred of soy milk and fake milks in general, of fake people, rich fuckers who think they own the world. 

Ashley’s running commentary on Stu’s non-relationship with Maxine, the generally poor state of hospital cafeteria coffee, and the appalling quality of video games these days. 

And then, slowly, more important things — are you a cat person or a dog person? (Dennis: cat, definitely; Ashley: had guinea pigs as a kid; they died; no one has let him near a pet since); what alcohol will you never touch again because you drank too much of it as a teenager? (Ashley: Ouzo, revolting stuff; it’s his grandad’s fault, the bastard; Dennis: Stone’s Green Ginger Wine; on a dare; he threw up for three days straight and now can’t even stand the smell of ginger).

When they do find themselves on the same scene, it’s about the most unlikely situation either of them could have imagined. It’s an enormous estate — some Baronet or other, airs and graces but no money to speak of any more, so the place is crumbling around them — literally. The gentleman of the manor is currently under quite a lot of masonry. Seems one corner of the cottage collapsed and he’s lucky it didn’t hit his head. Ashley figures he’s probably just broken his leg, from his description, but none of them can be sure until the fire crew get the stones out of the way.

They’ve been at it a few hours, and they’ve broken for lunch — the ambulance crew and the firefighters sharing tea and watercress sandwiches courtesy of Lady Margaret, who’s only too happy to potter about looking after them all and keep her mind off what’s happened to her poor Harold. Dennis is sitting about six feet from him, with his tight navy T-shirt showing off his fit body, biceps straining to stay in the bloody sleeves. The tattooed lower half of St George’s horse peeking out. Those grey suspenders sitting just over his nipples, clipped to his over-sized black pants with their stupid yellow stripes. Ashley isn’t sure how he’s supposed to keep his eyes off the man, let alone pretend they haven’t been flirting over text every goddamn night for the past fortnight.

When everyone else heads back to work after their meal, Ashley asks Lady Margaret where the outhouse is, and she generously offers to show him the lavatory in the main house. Dennis watches him go in, and for a minute Ashley’s struck with wishful thinking but shagging the boy in the loos is frankly a terrible idea. A wonderfully, fabulously, magnificently _dreadful_ idea.

When he comes back out — solo, sadly; either it didn’t occur to Dennis to follow him or the lad is smarter than Ashley and knows who’s paying his wages — he slowly makes his way across the lawn towards the cottage. Everyone’s disappeared, now. It’s a warm day, just a bit overcast. 

He’s passing the enormous greenhouse when he hears a low whistle, and he looks up to see Dennis leaning back against a glass wall, framed by orchids and hanging baskets. Dennis cocks his head invitingly, and Ashley feels a rush of blood to his nether regions. Apparently the boy is as keen for it as Ashley is after all. It’s like the start of a fucking porno and he is here for it, that’s for certain. He checks that no one is around or looking his way and ducks through the door to where Dennis is waiting.

Ashley reaches a hand out and smooths it down the soft T-shirt covering Dennis’s front, runs his finger under one side of his suspenders. “Lookit you,” he says, low. “What’s a handsome young firefighter like you doing in a place like this?”

Dennis smirks wickedly. “Oh, y’know,” he says, as he flips them round, so that Ash now has his back to the wall. “Fighting fires. Saving lives. Checking out hot EMTs, then stealing them away.” He whispers the last one, inching closer to Ash’s ear, all hot breath and intoxicating nerve, _fuck_ he’s too much. “It’s dangerous out there, sweet’eart. Just rescued you from the thick of it — you could give me a lil kiss for my troubles, couldn’t ya?” Dennis fingers the edges of Ashley’s cloth name badge, tracing the letters.

Ashley rolls his eyes — he’s not a princess, he’s a goddamned action man himself, but… he’s got this stupidly handsome, bold youngster pinning him to a wall and demanding he engage in some kind of forbidden workplace hookup, so, really, who the fuck cares right now, eh? He’d much rather let this wonderful overconfident lad have his way with him than start a pissing contest at this point in proceedings. 

Dennis has boxed Ash in, a thick forearm on either side of his head, those lips just in front of him, and he’s waiting, expectant, for his reward. Ashley decides to play coy for just a little while longer, even as he can see Dennis’s breathing quicken.

“If I kiss you here,” he says, “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop…”

Dennis’s eyes flash with want. “Is that so?” he says. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Jesus. Ashley can feel the heat rising in his belly, his heart loud in his chest.

Ash hooks his index and middle fingers under both suspenders — something he’s been wanting to do since the very first time he saw Dennis in front of that derelict building, all puppy eyes and charcoal-smudged face — and pulls him in, slowly, never losing eye contact, like time has stopped, both of them breathless with desire for each other, and then the sounds of their lips crashing together and heavy exhalation fill the air around them. Ash yanks at the suspenders, pulling them off Dennis’s shoulders, out of the way, they’ve served their purpose and now they’re kindly requested to fuck off, thank you very much, because his hands need to touch, roam, tug at that T-shirt and try to lift it. Dennis takes one hand off the wall and wraps it in Ashley’s hair, angling his head so Dennis can deepen the kiss and yeah, fuck, that’s _perfect_.

He’s moaning into it, losing himself completely in how thoroughly Dennis is plundering his mouth when Dennis pulls back all of a sudden and covers the lower half of Ashley’s face with his hand, silencing him. Ashley freezes stock still at the same time as he feels his traitorous body react, the flush rising in his skin, his eyes widening, his pulse quickening. Dennis crowds against him and he squirms under him without even thinking. In one corner of his mind, he can hear what Dennis obviously heard moments before — Lady Margaret, humming to herself as she waters her petunias not 10 feet from where they stand. The rest of him is utterly mesmerised by the sheer power of Dennis’s body holding him still, trying desperately not to just collapse limp in his hold, his cock stiff and aching for contact. Dennis' eyes are still boring into his and Ashley can see the exact moment Dennis puts two and two together and comes up with _kinky bastard_. To be fair, thinks Ashley, he’s not _wrong,_ is he? Ashley is pretty sure all _his_ eyes are saying is, “Please, I’d quite like it if you’d fuck me; right here is fine.”

It feels interminable, waiting for Lady Margaret to leave, but she eventually does, and Dennis removes his hand. Ashley licks his lips.

“Well, well,” says Dennis, as Ashley squirms even more. Dennis presses his entire length up against Ashley, trapping him against the wall. His mouth is right up next to Ashley’s ear. “I think we’re going to have _a lot_ of fun, don’t you?”

Ashley grinds into him and is gratified when Dennis gasps a little. Those loose pants give nothing away to look at, but there’s a sizeable bulge under there when Ashley pushes up into it again. Feels… _big._ And _thick_. Fuck. Now he _really_ can’t wait to feel what’s under there for himself.

“You like being held down, do you?” growls Dennis, low. “You like being _helpless_?” Ashley bites back the whine that threatens to spill from his lips, and he wriggles in Dennis’s grip again. “I’ll make you beg for it — you’d like that, too, wouldn’t you?” Ashley nods, half gone just listening to Dennis talk, and then Dennis is kissing him again, fierce and possessive.

They hear a cheer from the Watch and commotion that suggests they’ve reached Sir Harold. Then, more faintly, Stu saying, “Ash isn’t still on the pot, really?”

This time it’s Ashley who breaks their embrace. He’s panting, hair a mess. Christ. He runs his hand through his curls and straightens his green shirt. ”I’d better go,” he says, wincing when his voice comes out a little strangled.

The rest of the day is predictable — Sir Harold’s leg is indeed broken, so they bundle him into the rig and blue him into the local for treatment. Stu hadn’t noticed Dennis was missing too, so he just gives Ashley heaps about what took him so long — was he wanking in the old lady’s porcelain? Banging the gardener? And that last one is hilarious, so Ashley sits in the back texting Dennis all of it.

Their daily conversations take on an edge, after that. Less ‘get to know you’ and more ‘shirtless thirst trap’ and salacious suggestions.

Eventually, Dennis calls Ashley, late one night after a tough shift, says, “I want to see you again. I can’t stop thinking about you,” and Ashley breathes a sigh of relief, says, “Thank fuck, I thought it was just me,” and tells him his address.

* * *

“Your gear, mate!” exclaims Dennis when he makes it to the lounge room. “You didn’t tell me you was rich!”

Ashley laughs, nervous, looks around at his exposed brick and all the wood, deep red detail on the round porthole window halfway up the wall. Wonders for a moment how it looks to a kid from Churchill. “I’m not. It’s all insurance, innit? I had a break-in, around a year ago. They took everything but I was insured to the hilt, so now I’ve got all new toys, dinnae?”

Dennis is wearing a neat navy blue polo shirt, matching jeans and a black leather belt. He’s _dressed up_ , Ashley realises suddenly, and he feels a bit better about trying on seven different tops before he settled on the sand-coloured Henley. 

Dennis gestures at the coffee table. “And an XBox One, I see. No bloody wonder you’re complaining about the quality of the games!”

“Oi, back off. It was shiny, and it wasn’t my money, so I got it. You play, then?”

“Sure, like PS4 games…”

“Look, _Witcher 3_ is just as good on either!” argues Ashley, half-laughing. “There’s some kind of racing game in there, too — if that’s more your speed.”

“Maybe later,” says Dennis, looking meaningfully at Ashley.

Suddenly flustered, Ashley thinks about stepping closer to Dennis and kissing him senseless, but he promised himself he wouldn’t. He should take it slow. “Cuppa?” he asks, hopefully. “Or a beer?” 

“Wouldn’t say no to a cuppa.” Dennis grins, all teeth, just a little feral. 

“How’d you take it?” _I know how_ I _take it — please, god, don’t let him be a bottom._ Ashley blinks. _Jesus, get a fucking grip._

“White wiv’ two, please.” Dennis plonks himself down on the couch and picks up the controller as Ashley heads to the kitchen. He can hear Dennis muttering to himself as he works out the buttons, hears the sound of the game in the background.

“Tough night, then?” he calls out.

“The worst,” Dennis calls back. “Two oldies in a flat. Think they fell asleep with a lit ciggie. She made it, he didn’t. She still mightn’t.”

Ashley comes back to the couch with two steaming mugs of good Yorkshire, sets one down in front of Dennis.

“Rough,” he says. He settles himself on the couch, next to Dennis. Picks up his own tea — black, three sugars. Puts it down, picks up the other controller, and Dennis smirks at him. He selects a car — Jaguar, white, of course. 

“Yeah,” says Dennis. “Prolly been together all their lives, like. Just made me think.” He chooses a track and starts the race. He looks across at Ashley. “I think my longest relationship’s been, like… three months?”

Ashley can’t help the sound he makes, concentrating a little too hard on cornering to actually respond. 

“What?” says Dennis, like he’s ready to be offended. Suspicious. Closed down, all of a sudden, like a roller door slamming shut, frown slamming into place when Ashley dares to look.

“Oh, no, I’m not one to judge!” Ashley hastens to reassure him. “I think mine’s more like three weeks!” 

“Oh.” Dennis visibly relaxes, then leans forward intently, speeds up, overtakes him on the course. “So, um. Were they all… like, are you…?”

“Gay?” Ashley fills in. “100 per cent. You?”

“Um,” says Dennis.

Ashley waits. They race in silence for a little, another half a lap.

“Whatever it is, I’m fine with it,” he says.

“I’m still not sure what I am,” says Dennis, as his car crosses the finish line and he tosses the controller away from him, a little satisfied smile on his face. “I’ve been with girls, but… I dunno… it was awkward?”

“So you’ve never been with a man? Not even a kiss?” asks Ashley. _Jesus._

“Before you? No.” Dennis looks down, away. “There was this bloke — on the estate — Gog. He was… I dunno… magnetic, and — terrifying. He used to… _we_ used to… he’d put porn on — straight porn — and we’d toss off together. I don’t know if he ever realised I was watching him out the side of my eye more than I was watching the telly. I used to fantasise that he’d catch me watching and make me suck him off. I think if he really had, he would have beaten me to a pulp.”

“But he never did.”

“Thank fuck, eh?” Dennis rubs his hand across his brow, then across the back of his neck. Lifts his tea cup, drinks. Puts the cup back on the table, then takes Ashley’s out of his hands and puts it down gently, too. “You, though. You _do_ things to me.”

Ashley’s breath catches and he bites at his lip, looks at Dennis coquettishly from under his lashes. “Do I?”

Dennis surges forward and Ashley surrenders to him, their lips meeting rushed, as Dennis pushes Ashley backwards a little, one hand scrabbling at Ashley’s shirt to get his hands on flesh instead of cloth, the other coming up into Ashley’s curls at the back of his neck, just how he likes it, and before he knows it, he’s having the life kissed out of him, a bit too much tongue again — teenagers are the same across the bloody country, he thinks — but going by the feel of the massive fucking boner pushing into his hip, Ashley, at least, has no fucking doubts that Dennis is queer as a fucking three-pound note.

* * *

Dennis settles onto his elbows, rough denim and thick cotton rustling against the soft silk of Ashley’s sheets, and just looks up at him while he moves closer. His mouth — fuck, his _mouth._ Parted, wet lips, swollen and pink from what feels like hours of making out on the couch after finally, _finally_ discarding that stupid racing game on the XBox.

He’s gotten Ashley’s shirt off and now he’s just looming over him, a little predatory. Ash is utterly here for it, just gone — pupils blown, squirming, and he’s still got his bloody jeans on.

Dennis presses their groins together again, a heavy, slow movement and they both groan, cocks grinding against each other. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” breathes Dennis, and Ashley can’t help but mentally congratulate himself. Dennis is _everything_ he could have hoped for. A bit on the rough side, supremely toppy, vocal as all get out, and... absolutely huge. Even bigger than he thought the other day, feeling it through his uniform. He hasn’t seen the thing in all its glory yet, but the head of it is poking out the top of Dennis’s jeans, it’s so fucking big. It’s 10 inches? _11_? 

He reaches down for what feels like the tenth time, trying to touch it, to unzip Dennis’s fly, to get into those pants, but Dennis swiftly seizes him by the wrist and twists that arm up over his head. It takes Ashley’s breath away.

“Uh uh uh,” Dennis admonishes him, half-growl, half sing-song demon. “Patience…” He thrusts again, deliberately slow, the length of him pushing onto Ashley’s throbbing dick, his wet mouth nestling into the hollow where Ashley’s neck meets his shoulder and sucking a raspberry bruise — “… is a virtue.”

Ashley thinks he might legitimately die tonight, and he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

Still pinning Ashley’s wrist firmly to the bed, Dennis moves his head down to Ashley’s exposed, erect nipple. He swirls his tongue around it, laughs a little as it tightens further and then sucks it into his hot mouth, flicking the tip with his tongue, scratching a little with his teeth, then slurping the whole thing into his heat again. Ashley writhes under his ministrations, his free hand holding Dennis’s head in place just in case he gets the wrong idea.

Dennis nips at him, worries Ashley’s flesh with his teeth and grins at Ashley’s keening moan. He switches to the other side, and says wickedly, “Well, this bit isn’t that different…” before biting down hard, and soothing the bruised nub with the flat of his wet tongue as Ashley shouts.

Dennis moves back up Ashley’s body again — slow, firm — takes his other wrist so both Ashley’s arms are pinned above his head now, and lowers his plush mouth to Ashley’s again, kisses him deep, languorous, gentler than before but so _much_. 

“I want ter _see_ you,” begs Ashley, as Dennis presses down on Ashley’s trapped cock again. “Ohhhh, fuck, _please…_ ”

“I like that… I like hearing you ask for that, so dirty,” murmurs Dennis. “Is that wrong of me?”

Ashley shakes his head, frantic. “I want wrong things all the time,” he admits, barely knowing what he’s saying.

Dennis lifts himself up a notch, pressure on Ashley’s wrists. He looks serious, like he’s searching Ashley’s face for any hint of a lie. “So, this is the point where every girl I’ve ever been with has suddenly acted a bit weird…”

Ashley nods. “Because you’re too big?” He gasps as Dennis bites into the side of his jaw, presses down again.

“Uh huh,” says Dennis. “Apparently.”

“I don’t mind,” says Ashley. “Honestly, god, it’s one of my biggest fantasies. Please. _Please_.”

Dennis peers into Ashley’s face for a while longer and eventually seems satisfied with what he sees, because he lets Ashley’s wrists go and sits back on his haunches, weight on Ashley’s thighs. 

Ashley props himself up on his elbows to get a better view.

Dennis unbuttons his shirt and takes it off, revealing a slim waist, gorgeous chest, more tattoos — Ashley _knew_ it, fuck, he’s so hot. And then his hand slides down to his button, which he flicks open with his thumb, and then he’s slowly lowering his zip, pushing down his boxers and his thick, hard cock springs free, halfway up to his navel, the tip of it glistening with pre-cum and it’s goddamn _magnificent_. He has absolutely no fucking idea how that monster is going to _fit_ into him but he _wants it_ so badly, wants to choke on it, imagines how fucking _full_ he’s going to feel with that in him, and he can’t help the utterly shameless whine that falls from his lips as he feels all the blood rush to his own cock.

Dennis laughs. “Yeah, that’s not usually the response I get.”

Ashley drags his eyes back up to Dennis’s face. “To be fair, if I had a cervix, I’d be fucking terrified of you too.”

“Huh,” says Dennis. Ashley tries very hard not to roll his eyes — not everyone has studied anatomy and the lad _is_ young and inexperienced. And there are more important issues at hand. Or that he wants in his hand.

“You’re bloody magnificent. You know that, right?”

Dennis shrugs, noncommittal. Ashley pushes himself up, off the bed, slides his legs out from under the other man, until he’s kneeling facing Dennis and he reaches out a hand again. This time Dennis doesn’t stop him. Ashley strokes his fingertips from the silken top of Dennis’s cockhead down the long side of him to the base, where his dark hair curls. Dennis draws in a long, soft breath and Ashley’s holding his, mesmerised. Ashley wraps his fist around the base of it — and he can’t help the sound he makes when he realises his fingers are only just closing around it. _Jesus fucking Christ on a dildo._

For the briefest instant, it’s almost too much to wrap his head around. His _hand_ , too, his almost entirely useless brain offers, as it proceeds to liquefy completely, overwhelming lust burning him like scalding lava, leaving him breathless.

He needs — 

The pungent smell of Dennis’s arousal hits him as he moves his face closer and his hand a bit higher, up and up, back towards his tip, and it just never fucking _ends_ , God, fuck, he needs his mouth on it yesterday, and he doesn’t know if he has it in him to even ask for permission.

He should. He knows he should. His hand moves back down, foreskin unravelling underneath his touch, but his gaze painfully diverges from the almost stupidly beautiful swollen head of Dennis’s cock towards his face. That look Dennis is giving him — unholy as the Devil himself. Words get completely stuck in his throat. _Can I?_

Dennis nods frantically all the same, his teeth tugging at his lower lip and a few more splashes of sin painting on his face. _Go on_ , he seems to say. _Go on, do it_.

The tip of his tongue, first. It finds the slit of Dennis’s cock, curiously exploring the absolute wonder that is the salty taste of him. Then, gaze locked on Dennis’s lust-clouded eyes, he wraps his lips around that gorgeous tip — luckiest man in the world, he is, being the first one to get to do this. 

“Fuck me,” Dennis lets out, breathlessly, as he leans over his arms behind his back, absent-mindedly exposing himself more, bucking his hips upwards slightly. “Fuck, you’re good…”

Ashley wants to smile, wants to let out a benevolent chuckle — but he can hardly move his mouth the way he wants to, his jaw already stretched wide, three inches of thick flesh already filling him, pushing down on his tongue and up against his palate, already pressing against the back of his throat without even trying. He hasn’t even done anything yet, hasn’t properly started, and Dennis is already preening underneath his careful attentions, and fuck why oh why is that so hot a concept? Boy so green, cock so big — if he thinks about it too much, he’s almost sure his synapses will short circuit.

So, he doesn’t — think. He does hum around his mouthful, though, a groan, deep and visceral, as he relaxes his throat muscles, fights the impossible gag reflex that hasn’t shown its ugly face in years, god damn — but this is something else entirely, isn’t it, so he’s allowed to gag. He _wants_ to gag, in fact. Messy, slick, glistening with spit and come — that’s how he wants Dennis’s cock to get. He’s treating it as an object of worship.

“Oh, god, y— you’re _really_ good at this, _fuck_ ,” Dennis reiterates, pairing the praise with slight tug on Ashley’s curls. Ashley feels his eyes fill with tears what with god knows how many inches of _that incredible cock_ already halfway down his throat as he desperately tries to simultaneously keep them open and let him in even further, _c’mon, you can do it_ , at least let his lips touch the side of his hand wrapped around the base, fucking hell, he’s not that weak — but it seems to be getting thicker, ridiculous, impossible, and he can’t breathe properly right now. Deepthroating is definitely not happening, right this moment. _That’s disappointing_ , he can’t help but think.

He decides to slide back up a bit, then, a slow drag paired with expert suction, muscle memory kicking in, deceiving him, as if this was just like any other blowjob he’s given. 

His jaw aches a little as he reaches the tip, as he opens wide again to slide down, marvelling at the unforgiving stiffness pushing his lips apart, steel wrapped in soft velvet, so fucking _thick_ and _long_ , god, but he loves cock, is just a slut for this feeling of giving, of being filled, slightly helpless faced with the irresistible force of it going in and in and in unending, pushing his limits, blocking off his breath, as he holds as long as he can with seven, eight inches of it deep in his mouth, lips finally kissing the top of his own hand at its base, wishing he could get deep enough to nestle his face in those curls, _all the fucking way_ , but having to relent, having to come up for air with a sob, gasping in and sloppy, loud, sinking straight back down as Dennis groans and the grip in his hair tightens and it’s all just fucking _phenomenal_. 

After a while, he shifts back to barely scratching the surface, takes just a few inches in, locking eyes with Dennis as he does so, feeling him squirm through hollowed cheeks and seeing him writhe through misty eyes, his words a string of increasingly nonsensical profanities, fading to just a gasp when Ash slides back up and hovers, hot breath over that _gorgeous_ swollen tip, hand working slickness up and down the shaft — filthy, _filthy_. The look on Dennis’s face is gorgeous torment, begging him to continue and goddamn, that makes Ashley feel smug. Dennis can take more teasing, Ash knows it, Dennis _needs_ more, so he collects spit in his mouth and pouts his lips and lets it slowly drip down to wet that miracle cock a tad more.

Fire in Dennis’s eyes for a split-second, then a gut-wrenching groan, torn from deep inside him. He throws his head back, resumes travelling on his train of blasphemies, and adds a bit of praise in the mix, too. “So good, fuck, fuck, you’re so… _fuck_ , that’s incred— _my_ _fucking_ _god_ ,” he cuts himself off as Ash almost effortlessly slides the whole thing back in, not down to the hilt but _almost_ , he’s getting the hang of this, and it’s just the best thing _ever_ , if you ask him, and the only thing that would make this better would be if… Oh, sweet St. Andrew in a jockstrap, it’s _happening_. Dennis is moving his hips almost imperceptibly, clearly trying to steady himself and refrain from fucking his mouth—but Ash wants it, he wants it _all_ , so he raises his gaze once again and nods, as best he can with a throatful of _that_ , and accentuates his point by covering Dennis’s hand on his head with his own palm, pressing down, _please, pull my hair and use me, cocky boy. I’m yours._

Giving Dennis that permission is like flipping the most beautifully efficient switch — he purrs, bites his lip, exhales loud and hard, and goes to fucking town. He starts thrusting with purpose, heels planted in the mattress and hips ramming up and inside Ash hard, sometimes so deep that his bum is slightly lifted and Ash takes that opportunity to slip his free hand under it and feel the absolutely flawless build of those glutes, cup one in his hand and squeeze deliberately while he floats higher and higher in the land of mild oxygen deprivation and blinks back tears. Good, good, _so fucking good_ , he could do this for hours. His jaw doesn’t even hurt anymore, by this point — he feels slack and malleable, ready for literally anything Dennis has to give, melting away into the intensity of it all. He wishes it could last forever.

The hand at the back of his head, his own cock throbbing between his thighs, his mouth tingling, buzzing — he moans with it. And Dennis responds so beautifully. “Ohhhhhh, god, ohhhhhh _fuck_ , yes, Jesus… that’s _ungghhhhh…”_

To Ash’s great disappointment, however, Dennis lasts merely a couple of minutes of the entire lifetime Ash was prepared to spend going down on him. He’d be more disappointed were it not for the fact that, if there’s one thing he likes more than sucking cock, it’s the satisfaction of feeling hot spurts of come hitting the back of his throat and getting to watch whatever man he’s servicing look down at him in slight-to-moderate amazement, which sometimes, just sometimes, can even turn into pure fucking ecstasy. Doesn’t happen often, since most of the men he’s fucked were used to the whole casual-sex-and-no-banter thing and never really ended up getting into it all that much — playing the game, thanking him and telling him he was good. He knows he is — good, and good _at it_ — but he doesn’t hear it often enough, and sometimes it’s just frustrating how few of them know how to connect for _real_. 

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” Dennis stutters, lost, going, gone, and Ashley doesn’t even want to stop to say yes, _do it, come down my throat_ , just looks up, looks Dennis right in the eye. It feels like an absolute fucking miracle when, after Dennis grips Ash’s curls with both hands and fucks his mouth two, three, four more times, eyes widening, mouth falling open wordless as he spills into Ash’s mouth and Ash swallows, Dennis actually fucking looks down at him in awe, like he’s a fucking gift from the fucking gods. Like he’s never seen anything, anyone more beautiful. Like he’s never felt this good. 

Nevermind this being the most incredible blowjob Ashley’s ever given, like, _ever_ — a look like _that_ … fuck, that’s the shit. It’s like witnessing a fucking Damascene conversion. And, well, that’s exactly what Ash has desperately been looking for, and what he thought he’d never get — not in a million years of roaming the queer scene and getting busy in improbable public places and pulling coppers and other emergency service fellas on accident sites — someone who looks at him like that.

Weird, getting this rush of emotions from a single look. He doesn’t even need to come, right now. He rarely remembers ever feeling this completely and utterly fulfilled in his _life_ , in fact.

Who’d have thought, eh?

* * *

Tuesday afternoon sees Ashley back in the rig. He finds himself gazing out the window half the time — _away with the fucking fairies_ , as his mum would say. _Away fucking the fairies_ , he’d always respond in his head. He watches the buildings drift past him as they meander through the streets waiting on a call. His mind keeps wandering to flashes of warm, bare skin, to hands gripping him, fingers digging into his sides. He keeps having to breathe through little waves of heat that roll through him unbidden, embodied memories, muscles clenching, blood rushing south. He’s trying not to give it away, grips his leg and wipes the sweat off his palm, hides his smile.

Stu’s driving, thank goodness, and when Ashley tunes back in to what he’s saying, he wishes he hadn’t.

“… and Maxine was just sodding going for it — in my dream, right? — with fucking _Kirsty_ of all people. And when I tried to, you know, _encourage_ them... they shut the bloody door in my face.”

“Wait up,” says Rachid. “Are you telling me, that in your _own_ fucking dream, two hot women shut you out of a potential threesome?”

“That,” says Stuart, “is exactly what I am telling you. And I am telling you that I’m deeply disturbed by it. Have I become some kind of bizarre feminist in my unconscious mind? Have I somehow developed respect for these two birds in my life? Does this make me an honorary lesbian rights activist?”

“Are you serious?” asks Ashley.

“I am, Ashley. I am. And I am asking you, as a professional gay, what you think my dream means?”

“Sorry, mate,” laughs Ashley. “Wrong team.”

“I think it means you’re a pathetic loser,” says Rachid.

“I wasn’t asking you, was I?” says Stuart, indignant.

“I’m inclined to agree with him, though,” says Ashley. “Even your unconscious is telling you that you’re unworthy to be included in the transcendental fucking sex that clearly was about to occur.”

“Maxine nestling down between Kirsty’s legs, and licking her…” offers Rachid. 

“All right!” interrupts Ashley. “I don’t need that visual in my mind next time I’m sent up for counselling, thank you!”

“Maybe it just means I’ve finally cracked it,” says Stuart. “Maybe it’s my subconscious telling me to find someone who’ll be there for me…”

“Wasn’t it you said you didn’t need anyone in your life?” says Rachid. “Thought we was all mugs?”

“Give it a rest. I’m not talking about dating them. I’m talking about fucking them.”

“Maybe Ashley can be your wingman.”

“Nah,” says Ashley, before he can think better of it, and both of the others instantly turn to him, like a sprung trap.

“Who is he?” asks Stuart.

“It’s that probie, isn’t it?” says Rachid.

“Was he good? Did you make him scream?” says Stuart, nudging Ashley, and grinning.

Ashley starts to sputter an answer, and Rachid’s eyes widen. “Oh my god,” he says. “You haven’t done it with him. You’re _dating_ him. Oh my god.”

Thankfully, Ashley doesn’t have time to respond because just then, the radio buzzes to life. “Nearest vehicle to High Street, we’ve got a female teenager, possible overdose.”

Ashley scrambles for the mic unit, relieved, shrugging at the other two. _Sorry, fellas_ , that shrug says. _Duty calls, what a pity._ “Unit 4 responding,” he says.

“Ambulance responding, fire crew despatched — sounds like she’s hard to get to, in a container near the docks.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Pink hair, stick figure of a lass apparently — her mate’s giving her CPR and on the phone to us. Let us know when you get there and we’ll direct.”

 _Oh fuck_ , thinks Ashley. _It’s her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, we had a discussion about the year this is occurring and decided it was 2015, a calendar year after the Smoke. We’re just moving everything that happens in Sirens to 2014 as well, because we don’t want it to be four years after the events in Sirens. Clear as mud?
> 
> Oh and if you would like to read terrifying Dennis/Gog porn, may we recommend [Lippy Kids by th_esaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662455) and [A Perfectly Normal Reaction to Fear by apeirophobia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519620).


	3. Press down firmly and rhythmically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some warnings on this one — please note that the tags have changed. If you need details for the warnings, please see the endnotes. Note that the endnotes contain spoilers.
> 
> We promise you a happy ending for everyone. 
> 
> Then there’s disclaimers: Phoenix wrote most of the medical stuff in this chapter based on research — apologies if I’ve got any of it egregiously wrong. I have no medical training of any kind! I do however have a lung condition so some of the facts and descriptions are based on experience.

When they arrive at the docks, the fire engine is just pulling up too, and Stu is all set to do his usual race against his counterpart to get to the girl first. As luck would have it, it’s Dennis’s crew and Ashley spots him as they’re headed across and blushes to the roots of his hair. As luck would _also_ bloody have it, Rachid notices, just as Dennis nods perfunctorily in Ashley’s direction.

“Speak of the devil, Ashley,” Rachid says, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbles Ashley, secretly chuffed.

The docks are massive — kilometre after kilometre of containers, and huge cranes, reaching up into the sky. There’s one ship in dock — a gargantuan beast still piled high with multi-coloured rectangles, only half unpacked, nestled into its frame of enormous metal structures, but that’s enough. Each ship carries 18,000 containers and if Control hadn’t triangulated the phone, there’s no way in hell they’d have a clue where to start.

As it is, they have a zone of 40 or so containers to go through, far away from the ship and its hum of robotic shuttle carriers crawling over it. No, these are run down containers that have been more or less forgotten, for now, so they pair up — one EMT per firefighter — and fan out, knocking on metal walls.

They’re going to run out of time if they don’t find her soon.

Finally, Dennis cocks his head and holds his hand up. “They’re in this one!” he says, and he heads to the rear of it to open it. Under normal circumstances, it’d be a simple matter of pushing the lock rods out of the cams and opening the doors, but it’s clear that at some point, the kids have drilled air holes for themselves and as a bonus, installed a lock on the inside of their temporary ‘home’. He swears softly, and calls through to them. “Hey! You lot! We’ve got paramedics out here, can you open the door for us?”

There’s a muffled response that Ashley can’t hear, and then he hears Dennis swear again. Dennis claps Ashley on the shoulder as he walks past. “Back in a jiffy,” he says.

Ashley calls through the air holes. “My name’s Ashley! I’m here to help your friend! Are you still doing CPR, mate?”

The voice that comes back to him sounds so bloody young. Thin, reedy, just broken. “I haven’t stopped, been doing it like t’operator said.”

“That’s great, that’s good!” says Ashley. “We’ll get in there and help you any second! Can you tell me what she took, mate?”

“I told her on the phone — we didn’t have anything. Clare’s been coughing and coughing for days, and tonight she just stopped breathing!”

Dennis comes back and motions for Ashley to stand out of the way. He takes out some complicated tool from a bag on his belt and fits it to the large metal contraption he brought back with him. He takes another tool and puts it in his teeth. He flips the door clasps over, pulls the lock rods up and twists something around them to hold them there, then shimmies his tool into the tiny gap and levers it to force it wider. Then he takes one hand off and takes the tool out of his teeth, slips it through the gap and hooks a padlock towards himself. “Pass me the shears, will you, Ash?” he says, nodding down. Ashley’s been watching a bit gobsmacked, but he shakes himself off and passes the bolt cutter across. “Hold this?” Dennis indicates the thing he used to lever the gap open. Ashley takes it, keeps the force up. Dennis manoeuvres the bolt cutters through the gap and snaps the lock off. The doors swing back, almost knocking Ashley over, but he recovers enough to keep his feet.

“That was fucking hot,” he mutters to Dennis, who just grins at him.

“Your turn,” says Dennis, ushering him into the container like it’s a fancy restaurant. “I’ll see you ‘ron, yeah?” Ashley nods at him.

The container has food boxes along the floor, clothes everywhere, a few comics, it looks like, and a dirty double mattress up the far end, where the two teens are: the pink-haired waif and her equally skinny boyfriend. He’s got leather wristlets, and a grimy white sleeveless shirt, Ashley notices, as he’s leaning over the girl — Clare, was it? — and doing a half-decent job of compressions.

“All right,” says Ashley. “You’ve done a great job. Now, let me have a look at her, okay?” 

Her skin’s pale, paler than the pastel pink crop top she’s wearing, one white bra strap showing where the top has fallen off her shoulder. 

“She’s gonna kill me. She said no ambulance,” the boy says.

“Mate, you did the right thing, okay?” As far as he can tell, she’s actually breathing on her own now, her exposed belly rising and falling shallowly, but he starts unpacking his kit regardless. “Can I just take a gander?” Jesus, he can practically see her ribs.

The boy sniffles and moves back — not really far enough, but at least Ashley can get in there now. He checks her pulse — slow but definitely there, that’s a bonus, no need for the paddles, thank god — and her airway, which is thready.

“Ye said her name’s Clare?” he says to the boy.

“Yeah. Clare…” He stops. Ashley knows he was about to give her surname away, and knows he’s clammed up. Fuck. Are they on the run? Is she hooking? They’re both so fucking _young_.

Ashley clips an infrared SATS monitor on her finger and winces when the number flashes up at 62. He grabs a Hudson mask and fits it over her nose and mouth, turns the oxygen on. “Clare?” he says. “You with us yet?” He shakes her shoulder a little and she coughs, which is a good sign. “So, lad,” he says to the boy, “What’s your name?”

“Jake,” he says. 

“Right, Jake. So when did she have the heroin?”

“I swear to you, we don’t do that shite.”

“You’d better not be bullshitting me just so I don’t blow her high or some bullcrap,” says Ashley. He’s already prepping the Narcan, just to be on the safe side — it’s not like it’ll do anything to her if she _doesn’t_ have opiates in her system.

Just then, she opens her eyes and starts coughing for real.

“Hello there, princess,” says Ashley. “Just relax…” She’s wide-eyed, a bit frantic. She kicks out at him and manages to catch his shin. He shouts — turns out the pretty floral boots are fucking steel-capped Docs and they fucking hurt.

Dennis pops his head back around the door at that. “Everyfing okay?” and then he does a double take. “Jesus, that’s _her_ , innit?”

Ashley’s holding his calf, sprawled slightly on the floor and Jake is soothing Clare’s hair, trying to talk sense into her. “Still an angel,” says Ashley, grumpy. “Look, Clare. I get that you don’t like me very much, but you weren’t _breathing_ when your loverboy here called services, all right? So we need to work out what’s going on.”

“Come on, Clare,” says Jake. “You’ve been coughing for a week. You’ve been dizzy, headaches. Let them help you.”

“Could it still be smoke inhalation from that fire?” asks Dennis, at the same time as Ashley’s thinking it.

And then Clare looks straight across to where Dennis is leaning against the doorframe, and a look of terror crosses her face, her already pale face turning ashen. 

“Dennis Severs?” she croaks. 

Ashley looks up at Dennis, whose face has gone from curiosity to confusion to open-mouthed amazement in the space of three seconds flat.

“Cal?” he asks, as she’s spitting, “Get him out! Get him the fuck away from me!” and then lapsing into agonising coughing and gasping for breath. Dennis puts both hands up, defensive, and backs out of the container, leaving Ashley gawping between where he’d been standing just a moment before and where Clare is doubled over on the bed. She’s cyanotic again — lips turning blue, heaving and desperate. Muscle memory kicks in and he’s refitting the Hudson mask despite her struggles and checking the tube for airflow before he can think twice. He’ll deal with Dennis later. 

“I think we need to take you in, love,” he says, but she shakes her head frantically.

“No,” she croaks. “No hospital.”

He checks her SATS again and fixes a nebuliser when it’s not going up fast enough. “Do you get asthma attacks, Clare?”

She coughs and then takes a ragged breath but the salbutamol gets in and her O2 goes up — so that’s something. She shakes her head in answer to his question. 

“Look,” he says, appealing as much to Jake as to Clare. “We really need to check you out, see if you’ve basically poisoned yourself in that fire a few weeks ago, or if you’ve damaged your lungs, or it’s something random. Are you refusing transport?”

She nods and rasps, “Yes.” She draws another shuddery breath and adds “Fuck off,” for good measure. Jake throws his hands up. 

“Delightful,” says Ashley. “Well, I can’t force you. I’ll leave you with a puffer. And if she gets worse again, bring her to A&E, you got me, Jake? Don’t fuck around.”

“Yeah, ‘kay,” says Jake, miserable. 

“And leave the blasted doors open, all right? You need air. Christ.”

Ashley packs up and ships out, finds Dennis is still hanging out just outside, hangdog, hands in his pockets. He falls into step beside Ashley immediately. 

“You gonna tell me what the fuck that was all about, then? She one of your exes?” says Ashley, a touch more harshly than he intended. Not Dennis’s fault the silly bint isn’t headed for hospital. 

“Way more complicated than that, bruv. Can we talk about it later?” offers Dennis. 

Ashley frowns at him, but acquiesces. He still has to fill out the bloody paperwork for this one and they’ve got another four hours at least until knock off. “Text me where you end up for the night, yeah? And Dennis?” He lowers his voice. “I wasn’t kidding. You’re fucking _hot_ when you break into things.”

Dennis grins at Ashley, glances around and back to him. There’s a slightly wild look in his eyes. “You asking me to roleplay rough trade, darlin’? I reckon I could do that.”

* * *

The second their shifts are over, Dennis texts Ashley the name of a pub. Ashley looks it up and texts back, “See you in 15.”

When he gets there, Dennis is leaning against the old stone wall, one leg bent up and his trainer flush against it. He’s changed into torn jeans and a bomber jacket and he’s got a white cap on backwards. Ashley isn’t sure if this is his regular gear or whether he took Ashley’s hint to heart. Either way, he is not complaining. Dennis doesn’t bother pushing off the wall when Ashley walks up, just looks up at him slightly and nods towards the alley next to the pub. Ashley looks in the direction he’s indicating — a narrow cobblestone lane, barely lit. He can feel his heart, loud in his chest at the suggestion. He bites his lip and nods back, puts his hands in his pockets and heads down the alleyway. He looks over his shoulder just once, and sees Dennis look both ways and then push off with his foot, swaggering towards him like he’s done this a million times. Ashley knows from the other night he hasn’t — or maybe he _has_ , god, how many women has he had down a dark alley like this? Ashley, though, fucking _loves_ shit like this, semi-public spaces, and the idea that Dennis is _indulging him_ just makes it ten times better.

He stops once he gets far enough down that the light from the street is almost completely gone and tucks himself into the shadow, turns around and waits for Dennis to catch up. He fidgets with his cuffs, taps his foot. Dennis reaches him, grabs him by the front of the shirt and manhandles him back against the wall like he doesn’t weigh a thing.

“Hello, handsome,” says Dennis. “Bit of a risk, innit, letting a bloke like me follow you down a dark alley?”

Ashley swallows. “I like a bit of a risk…”

“I figured.” He tightens his fist on Ashley’s hip, thumb hooked into his belt loop, strokes his other thumb across Ashley’s bottom lip. “You like it a bit rough, huh?”

Ashley bites at the thumb against his mouth, and Dennis grips his jaw, hard.

“Tell me again,” says Dennis.

“What?” asks Ashley, off-guard.

“Tell me what you liked, about earlier…” Dennis leans in and licks a stripe up the side of Ashley’s neck, nips at his earlobe. 

Ashley gasps and grunts out, “When you cut the padlock off…”

“Yeah?” murmurs Dennis, right in his ear.

“Yeah,” says Ashley. “You had all these tools and you just knew what you needed to do… hnnngh…” Dennis soothes the nipple he just tweaked and goes for the other one. “Just so _competent_ , so… oh _fuck…”_

Dennis leans in, pulls Ashley’s head back and kisses him, hard and fast. Ashley just opens his mouth and lets himself be kissed for a moment, the onslaught too much to think through, before a groan is pulled from deep inside him and he’s on fire, his whole body a taut line of intensity against Dennis, and he kisses back fervently, tongues and teeth meeting as they shift angles, his hand cupping the back of Dennis’s head, Dennis now holding Ashley’s face with both hands, chest against his chest, hips pressing him into the wall, starting to grind against him, that solid rod pressing into his thigh.

Then Dennis moves one hand downwards, between them, undoes Ashley’s pants and shoves his hand unceremoniously down the front of his shorts, wraps his fingers around Ashley’s already straining dick. Ashley grunts and pushes up into it, dripping and needy. Dennis’s hand goes all the way to the top, collects the wetness in a rough swipe and slides back down, swift and messy. He starts up a punishing rhythm straight off the bat and Ashley can’t help but groan into their kiss.

He knocks his head back against the cold stones behind him, such a stark contrast to the hot-wet heat of Dennis’s hand engulfing him over and over. He turns his head to the side, sees Dennis’s fingers splayed, holding himself up and beyond that, the light and the street beyond, the people entering and leaving the pub, the music getting slightly louder and then fading again as the door closes. Every so often, laughter, conversation — they’re just beyond the corner of the building there; they could turn at any moment, see shadows, movement. It’s exhilarating. He thrusts up into Dennis’s hand, moans again, loud. God, he’s close. 

Dennis lifts his hand off the wall and covers Ashley’s mouth with it, turns his head back to face him, drags him back from the edge with a sudden grip just under the head of his cock. “Look at me,” he growls. Ashley opens his eyes, meets Dennis’s fierce gaze. Dennis’s hand speeds up again, tugging at him, tight under the frenulum on each twist. “Give it to me. Give it up to me.”

“Yes…” murmurs Ashley, muffled. “Just like that.” 

“Now,” says Dennis, and Ashley arches up and comes all over Dennis’s hand, panting.

Before he can even catch his breath, Dennis’s hand on his shoulder is pushing him to his knees on the cobblestones. His other hand fumbles at his jeans, and then that enormous cock is right up in Ashley’s face again, the head purple, the tangy musk of it filling his nostrils. “Open your fucking mouth, gorgeous,” purrs Dennis, slapping the side of Ashley’s cheek with his dick. Ashley has never obeyed an order faster in his life.

The nubbly pebbles press into his knees as he kneels there, hands on his thighs, mouth open, waiting, vibrating, floating still on the afterglow of his orgasm. His own cock is still out in the cold air, barely soft. He can hear the sound of Dennis’s hand on himself, the wet slap of it and then the warm spatters of come hit his tongue, his lips, drip down his chin. He looks up at Dennis from under his lashes, licks it up.

“Fucking filthy, you are,” says Dennis. “I fucking love it.” Then he reaches out a hand to help Ashely up, and Ashley takes it, pulls himself up, the other hand beside him for leverage. They both tuck themselves away, and Ashley pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his face clean.

“I could use a pint,” says Ashley, with a shy smile.

Dennis grins back at him, flushed and happy. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

Ashley drains half his lager in one go. “Okay,” he says. “I think I’m ready to hear this. Go.”

Dennis is hunched over his own beer, fiddling with the condensation on the side of the glass. “I grew up with Cal — on the estate.”

“Clare?” asks Ashley, just to be sure.

“Well, he… _she_ wasn’t Clare then,” says Dennis, earnestly.

“Oh. _Ohhh_. Right,” says Ashley.

“She’s the little brother of… _fuckit_ , I keep fucking this up. Her older brother was one of my mates. Lachie. He ran with us, me and Gog, and the others. And Cal — _Clare_ — was always a bit fey, you know, like. Obviously a poof.”

“Except she wasn’t. She was just a girl…”

“Right. But we didn’t _know_ that…” says Dennis, his voice strained. He looks up at Ashley, dashes a tear from one eye. “And I was terrified to let anyone know about _me_.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Ashley. “What did you _do_ to her?”

“I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. But I also didn’t stop them. I never stopped anything they did.” He stops, looks away. “One day I’ll tell you the worst of it, but I think you’ll never want to talk to me again after that…”

“We’ve all done things we regret,” says Ashley. “What did _they_ do to her?”

“Kicked the shit out of her on the regular. Wrote shite on her locker at school. And made her kiss girls — like, to train her out of it or something.”

“And she saw you taking part in other beat downs, didn’t she? Even if you never hit her.”

Dennis nods, ashamed. “Gotta be honest with you, Ash. When it was someone who could defend themselves, it was exhilarating.”

“I’m not going to lie. You’re scaring me a tad,” says Ashley. “It’s all very well when you’re putting on an _act_ for me but… Jesus, no wonder she didn’t want to see you.”

“Completely legit,” says Dennis, sadly. “There has to be somefink we can do for her, though, right?”

“We can mind our own fucking business and leave her alone like she asked us to, Dennis,” answers Ashley. “She made it pretty clear you’re the last person she wants to see.”

They finish their beer in silence. It’s awkward — they don’t know each other well enough to know how to get out of this conversation. Dennis fidgets. Ashley gestures at the bar, questioningly. Dennis shrugs, almost imperceptible.

They try to talk about other things over their second pint — work, the NHS, even the sorry state of the government for one desperate moment — and Ashley’s about to make an excuse for the night, restless and discomfited when Dennis seems to pick up on that and pitches an earnest hand on his forearm.

“Look,” he says, “About Clare. I don’t have to be there. You don’t need to involve me at all. Like. You could just take equipment to her…”

Ashley draws his arm back. “What the hell are you suggesting, Dennis?”

“Like, the hospital must have so much in stores, they won’t miss it, will they? And you could treat her proper, what she needs, without her ‘aving to go in.”

Ashley lets out a slow breath, counts to five. “You’re fucking serious.”

“Yes?” says Dennis. 

He can’t be this daft, surely.

“I cannot fucking believe you’re even asking this of me, mate. It’s just completely inappropriate. Fark me.”

Dennis has the decency to look chagrined, but he doesn’t say, ‘sorry, I’m an idiot,’ he just says, “Okay…” and holds his hand up to Ashley as if Ashley’s the one in the wrong here.

“Don’t even get me started on the ethics of this, Dennis. I could lose my fucking _job_. I don’t know what sort of bullshit you guys get up to but we don’t do that kind of shit, alreyt?”

Dennis narrows his eyes. “Yeah, message received,” he says, clipped. He stands up. “It’s getting late. Um. Thanks — for earlier. Sorry for everything else.” 

Ashley stands up too, caught short-footed. Sure, he’s angry but he’d thought they could talk this out. How did he fuck this up so quickly? “I’m sorry too. I just can’t do what you’re asking. I just can’t.”

“I know,” says Dennis. “I’ll see you.” And he walks away, leaving Ashley standing next to their table like a fool. He gets in his car and drives home in a daze, all those soft plans of making Dennis breakfast tomorrow morning a fading dream. He’s a fecking idjit, isn’t he? There were ways to have that discussion that didn’t involve losing his damn temper. His phone dings and he can see the screen light up for a second and fade again. He thinks fleetingly about pulling over to read it, but there’s no point, is there?

He drives, stops at red lights and looks out at the Tuesday-night-world that is continuing without him — the small groups of people gathered on each corner: that crowd in suits and sharp ties, headed for a cocktail bar; five rough girls with wingtip eyeliner and patchwork denim jackets bumming fags off an old man and laughing outside the Tesco; three teenagers holding hands as they cross the road in front of him, in clothes that seem to be made entirely from neon plastic and metal chains. He feels — stretched thin, like a translucent sheet of sugar glass, like he could shatter at any moment. He can’t believe that a mere 12 hours ago, he was sitting in the rig, fingers against his lips, remembering warmth and kisses and the faintest taste of nicotine; that two hours ago, he had his pants halfway to his ankles in an alley, panting as he saw stars.

He looks at the text after he parks three spots down from his front door. His heart skips a beat when he sees it’s from Dennis after all, but when he opens it, it’s brief and feels like the hammer falling. “I don’t deserve you,” it says. “I knew that from the start, if I’m honest. No hard feelings.”

That’s — _fuck._ His hands are shaking. He blinks, tries to put the phone down. 

Well. It’s not like Ashley didn’t already know he was shit at relationships. This just confirms his worst fears. The first minor hurdle and he cocked it up, lost his temper. He should just stick with anonymous pulls. No, he should stick with FindAndGrind — at least then the person gets something out of having to put up with his shite. They probably should have banned him from _that_ years ago too. _Bloody idiot_ , he thinks. And then he says it out loud, for good measure. He hits his head a few times against the steering wheel and finally he unbuckles and drags himself into his apartment and to bed, alone.

Ashley starts twenty different replies to Dennis’s message and sends none of them. The next day is the first day in four weeks they haven’t texted each other. It makes him want to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of transphobia, homophobia and transphobic violence. If you want to skip the relevant section, stop reading at, “Ashley drains half his lager in one go.” and start again at “Look,” he says, “About Clare.”
> 
> All you need to know is that Dennis knew Clare on the estate because her older brother is one of Dennis’s mates. Clare is trans and Dennis knows her deadname and some things that happened to her growing up. Dennis himself is not transphobic. 
> 
> Yes, our fancast for Clare is Alex Consani (bottom right corner of the mood board above). Thanks also to Isabella Mariana from Pexels.com for the amazing piece of art with the butterfly.


	4. The chest is rising and falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter looked nothing like this in the original outline. But it’s been a labour of love, that’s for sure. Sorry it’s taken as long as it has to get out into the world but to be fair, it’s also the longest chapter so far.
> 
> Thanks to C, who put up with me (Phoenix) moaning about things not working and moving her magnificent work back and forth in and out of this chapter. Thanks to Em and C for grammar and punctuation picking. Disclaimer that all boring technical descriptions in the middle of a certain sex scene were kept in over C's objections — it's not her fault. :-)
> 
> Content warning for extremely brief reference to fundamentalist homophobic Christian parents and the sorts of ‘solutions’ they suggest for their teens.

After a full week of miserable-sod-Ash, Stu is clearly done with it. 

“All right!” he says, swinging in behind the wheel. “You will tell your comrades-in-arms what the fuck is going on or we’re calling the Chief at White Watch and staging a joint intervention.”

“You wouldn’t!” gasps Ashley.

“We would,” says Rachid. “You’re so fucking woeful at the moment, it’s starting to affect _my_ sex life.”

“You’re so bloody disconsolate,” says Stu, “that Maxine noticed and asked me who hurt you.”

Ashley just glares at him.

“I’m surprised Kirsty hasn’t cornered you and made you confess all to her while crying about your childhood,” says Stu. He peers suspiciously at Ashley. “Or has she, but your heart is so dismally inconsolable at this time that her magnificent counselling skills have merely touched the tip of the doleful iceberg that is your current pain?”

“Leave it out,” says Ashley. 

The others just wait, patiently. Meaningfully. Ashley looks out the window. 

Rachid picks up his phone and starts loudly and obviously dialling the number for White Watch. Ashley grabs for his phone and Rachid holds it out of reach. They fall into the back of the rig and wrestle for it just as it connects. A woman’s voice says, “White Watch Fire Station, can I help you?” and Ashley says, “Nope, all good here!” and stabs the disconnect button.

“You bastards,” he says. “Whatever happened to respecting a man’s need for isolation and stoic refusal to engage in emotional labour?”

“2015 happened, Ashley. Sorry if no one sent you the memo,” says Stu. “High rates of male suicide. Higher still among your lot.”

“Poor mental health outcomes,” says Rachid. “I went to a professional development course on that last year.”

“Therefore we shall talk with you about your feelings,” opines Stuart. “Ensure your wellbeing. Ask whether U R OK. Even if it makes us feel awkward and uncomfortable.”

“Also,” offers Rachid, “You’ve been really fucking boring to be with this week.”

“Well,” says Ashley. “If it’s about making your life more bearable…”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Ashley.”

“It’s about Dennis…” he starts.

“No!” say Stuart and Rachid in unison, ‘Really?!”

“Oh, fuck off,” says Ashley. He takes a moment, looks out of the window again, remembering the look on Dennis’s face as he stood up at the pub, shuttered and hurt. The clipped tone of his voice. “We had a fight,” he says, finally. He’s replaying what he said, the pleading in his own voice, trying to backtrack, too little, too late.

“We gathered that, genius,” says Rachid, not unkindly. “So, is it over or what? Is it salvageable”

“I don’t even know,” says Ashley, glumly. 

“Do you want it to be?” asks Stuart.

“I’ll have an S for ‘sucker’, please, Bob,” says Ashley.

“So, which one of you was the arsehole? This is key information in a situation like this. Entirely changes the rulebook, depending,” Stuart says, earnestly. 

“Pretty sure I’m the arsehole,” says Ashley, dejected. “Standard operating procedure.”

They’re parked under a tree now, midday sun half-heartedly attempting to warm up the street. The boys pull out their lunchboxes and start eating their sandwiches.

“You didn’t do anything he couldn’t forgive you for, though?” asks Rachid, around his mouthful of bread. “Like, nothing racist?”

Ashley looks scandalised, and then crestfallen. “I’ll have you know I apologised to Ryan and we’ve been good on that score for over a year, Rachid.”

“Oh, I know,” says Rachid. “I just like winding you up. Maybe it’s a Moroccan thing, eh?”

“Yeah, whatever. What am I supposed to do about this though? We haven’t spoken in a week. How are you supposed to make up with someone you really like when you’re the one who’s fucked everything up?”

“I mean, I don’t know if my experience is transferrable, when it’s two blokes,” says Stuart, “but I have extensive experience of being the arsehole… Gather close, my friends.”

“This should be good,” says Rachid. “I’m taking notes.”

Stuart starts ticking items off on his fingers. “You want a fancy dinner. Nice restaurant. Flowers. If you’ve really fucked up, night in a swanky hotel. If you got her mother arrested for solicitation accidentally, go the whole hog, champagne in a bucket of ice and chocolates on the pillow.”

“What?” asks Rachid.

“How was I to know Maxine had to follow through on information like that? This is the problem with her being a bobby. She’s too good at ‘er job.”

“Back to me though,” says Ashley. “Flowers? And a swanky hotel? I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” asks Rachid at the same time as Stuart says, “Bullshit.”

“That’s codswallop right there,” says Stuart. “Why would your Dennis be any different? Buy the lad flowers. Take care of your boy. Show him what he _means_ to you.”

“Treat your boy right,” says Rachid. He looks wistful. “No one ever bought _me_ flowers. I think I’d quite like it if someone bought me a posy.”

“And the most important bit,” says Stuart. “You have to apologise for what you did — and mean it.”

“Watch out, Stu,” says Ashley. “Keep this up and people might suspect you have a heart.” It can’t be that simple can it? But maybe it’s worth a shot.

* * *

He still can’t bring himself to actually text Dennis. He feels like a child but he’s stuck. He’s surprised they haven’t run into each other right up until it occurs to him that maybe Dennis is avoiding him. That’s crushing.

On the 10th day, he finally sees Dennis at a routine fire — which seems to be under control already when they get there. Dennis looks terrible — sunken eyes, with dark shadows beneath them, face wan. Is he not sleeping? Surely this isn’t because of Ashley? The whole thing is awful — excruciating. Almost the second he spots him, Ashley turns directly around and goes to head back to the ambulance but those bastards he calls crewmates are blocking his way.

“Not today, sunshine,” says Stuart. “ _You_ are going to talk to _him_ —” he inclines his head towards Dennis, “ — if it kills you.”

“I hate you,” says Ashley.

“I know,” says Stuart. “But this is what mates are for, yeah?”

Ashley turns back just as Dennis looks over. He raises his hand and waves, lacklustre. Dennis looks behind him and that makes Ashley’s heartbreak all over again. When Dennis looks back around, since there’s no one behind him, Ashley pulls up his big boy pants and walks over.

He scuffs his feet and looks at the ground for a moment, then kicks himself for acting like a literal five year old.

“Hi,” he ventures, finally.

“Hi,” says Dennis. 

“You look… I mean…” Ashley passes a hand over his eyes. “How’re things?”

“Fine,” replies Dennis. “You?”

“Shite,” says Ashley. “I miss you.” 

Dennis looks up at him, startled.

“Really,” he says, flat.

“Yeah, _really_ , you tosser. Sorry.” Ashley glances over at Rachid and Stuart, who are gesticulating wildly at him. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

Dennis shrugs. “Yeah, fine. Never better.”

Ashley can only feel the tightness in his chest. There’s no point. Stuart’s wrong. There’s no coming back from this. 

He goes to leave, but something stops him. They almost had something. It’s worth being honest for the first time in his blighted life. He turns back.

“No. Wait. That’s bullshit. What’s going on?”

“You said you didn’t want to know, Ash. I’m not going to involve you.”

“You…” Ashley takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, eventually. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

Dennis meets his gaze again, fleeting, looks away. “I deserved it.”

“Fuck, Dennis, no. You certainly don’t deserve to feel like shit for a week because of me. You look like you haven’t slept…”

To his surprise, Dennis laughs. “Well, that’s true but I ain’t been losing sleep over us. I been out every night looking for Clare.”

“You… What? I’m obviously missing something important here,” says Ashley. “What is she to you? What aren’t you telling me?” 

For a moment, it looks like Dennis is going to tell him to fuck off, and walk away. But he doesn’t. Instead he searches Ashley’s face again, the way he did that first night in Ashley’s bedroom, clearly looking for guile and games, and hopefully seeing nothing but sincerity. Ashley’s never been good at concealing anything — his thoughts, his feelings. What you see is what you get.

A look passes across Dennis’s face, and he stands a bit straighter, squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” asks Ashley, kindly.

“Can we…?” Dennis indicates a spot on the low wall behind them. Ashley nods, and they sit. Dennis pulls out a rumpled cigarette packet, offers it to Ashley. Ashley takes a smoke from the packet and leans forward into the flame in Dennis’s cupped hands, breathes in. Dennis takes another for himself and lights it too, inhales deeply, the red cherry of the cigarette glowing brightly, and then he blows out smoke, a long thin stream of it wafting into the cool air.

“Clare’s parents,” he begins, “kicked her out of home. It was my fault.”

Ashley looks at Dennis, sees the hunch of his shoulders, knows that whatever the truth of it, Dennis believes what he’s saying and hates himself for it. “How?” he says, simply.

“We’d been at a party the night before. Me and Gog. Clare was there. She shouldn’t have been. _We_ shouldn’t have been. And the way she was dressed. Mesh crop top, short shorts. It would have been too much for any kid her age but we thought… well, you know what we thought. Gog said — just terrible things.” He stops, takes a drag on the cigarette. 

“Where was her brother?”

“At some Bible study thing like Clare should have been. Her parents are bible thumpers. The sort that believe we’ll all burn in hellfire for looking sideways at another man.” He takes another drag.

“The next night, I went round to their place to talk to Lachie. Warn him that Cal — _Clare —_ was playing a dangerous game and that Gog was gunning for him — _her._ Their mum overheard me…” He sniffles, drags his sleeve roughly across his nose. “… and there was a screaming row. She dragged Clare out of her room and tears and threats. It was either some camp or she had to pack her bags…”

“For fuck’s sake. She looks like she’s barely 16 now…”

“Yeah, she would have been 14, I think.”

“OK, so she’s 16, dossing down wherever she can find a bed, getting hormones god knows where and terrified of her parents finding out she’s living as a girl for fear of some conversion shit? What a fucking _mess_.”

“I told you. It’s all my fault. And now I have to make it right.”

“Jesus, Dennis. It’s not your fault her parents are fucking arseholes.”

Dennis grunts. Ashley takes a risk, puts his hand on Dennis’s knee. Dennis makes an odd movement — sways towards Ashley for a split-second and then freezes and shivers slightly. Ashley takes his hand away and Dennis rubs at the spot like it’s ticklish.

“I really did miss you, this week,” Ashley says.

There’s a long pause. They both look at each other, and Ashley is terrified that Dennis will tell him that’s nice but it doesn’t mean anything’s changed. 

“I missed you, too,” says Dennis, eventually, and Ashley remembers how to breathe.

“When was the last time you ate properly?”

“I don’t remember,” admits Dennis.

“Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight?” asks Ashley. “You need someone to take care of you right now.” _You’re clearly not capable of doing it yourself,_ he thinks.

Dennis shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?” asks Ashley. And in that moment, he suddenly realises he does want to. Wants all of it — the fancy restaurant and the flowers, the forgiveness and the secrets Dennis is still hiding, the handholding in plain sight and whatever comes after that. First, though, he’s going to have to apologise properly.

* * *

“I couldn’t fit another mouthful, Ash,” says Dennis. “Sheesh, I ain’t never had anything like this.” He pushes his plate away, half his raspberry mille feuille still on it, gestures for a moment with the small silver cake fork like he doesn’t want to give it up quite yet, then regretfully puts it down. He looks around, as if he’s taking in the space and the city, a two-hatted kitchen nestled on the third-floor balcony of a four-star hotel.

Ashley licks the cream off his own fork, chases it with the tartness of one more berry, and then pushes his plate away too. The low hubbub of the restaurant fades away as he focuses on Dennis. 

“I owe you an apology,” he says.

“You already apologised,” says Dennis.

“I apologised for losing my temper. I didn’t apologise for underestimating you, for judging you. I was wrong.”

Dennis lifts his chin, his grey-green eyes shining. He reaches a hand across the table and Ash takes it. “Thank you,” he says. “I din’t know I needed to hear that.”

“I wanted to make it up to you. If you’re done?”

Dennis looks at him quizzically, and Ashley stands up signalling to the maître d’, who hands him a keycard on a small platter. “Thought the fancy meal kinda covered it.”

“I’ve arranged for a room upstairs, on the off chance you forgave me…”

“‘Ave you now?” He smirks, coy. “Then I definitely forgive you.” 

He takes the keycard from Ashley’s hand and looks around for the lift, finds it and raises an eyebrow. Ashley finds himself blushing, anticipatory, half-embarrassed and praying Stuart is right. 

All the way up to the 10th floor, he can feel his heart beating too rapidly, his breath a little shallow. He’s never been this nervous in his life. Dennis is looking increasingly antsy too, but it possibly has more to do with the look some overdone matron in pearls gave him as she exited the lift and they entered it. He looks fantastic in his collared shirt and his dark slacks, but Ashley also feels out of place here, like they’ll be thrown out any moment. He’s paid two weeks’ wages to be here, though, so they have as much right as anyone. He whispers as much to Dennis to reassure him. Dennis flicks him a small, tight smile. 

When Dennis opens the door to their room, Ashley hangs back and lets Dennis walk in. He waits for some kind of reaction — hasn’t seen it himself but knows either the table or the bed is going to be sporting a huge bunch of yellow and red roses, with “I’m sorry I’m an idiot” on a wide ribbon across them. The silence has him a bit worried, right up until he hears a kind of wet gulp, followed by a ragged inhale and he swiftly moves forward, embraces Dennis from behind, murmurs, “No, no, shhh! I wasn’t trying to _upset_ you.”

Dennis sniffles back, “‘M not upset,” and turns around, hides wet eyes in Ashley’s neck, and says, muted, “This is the nicest thing anyone done for me, ever.”

Ashley looks around — the room’s bigger than he expected, and the flowers really do look amazing on the little round table, with its two fancy chairs, and the bed is big and covered in pillows and cushions and those seriously _are_ chocolates sitting on the main pillows. He grins over Dennis’s head, and says, “Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll pour us a drink.”

Dennis nods, and heads into the bathroom. Ashley has barely even made it the five steps to the mini-bar when he hears Dennis swearing, low at first and then louder.

“Ash!” he hears. “Can you come ‘ere please?”

Ashley frowns and turns around. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just… you’ll see.”

Since it’s not an emergency, apparently, Ashley grabs the bottle of sparkling and two glasses before he heads over. Once he’s through the bathroom door, he can see what Dennis is on about. The tub is absolutely gobsmackingly humongous, one of those massive triangular numbers with jets on the sides. He puts the champers on the bench and wraps his arms around Dennis again. “Shall we start with a bath, then?”

“Did you know about this?” asks Dennis, suspicious, twisting around.

“No, but I did say I was going to take care of you…” He leans in and kisses Dennis’s temple. “Is that okay?”

Dennis grumbles but accepts the glass Ashley pours him. 

“Let me spoil you,” says Ashley. He shoos Dennis over to lean against the bench while he fills the tub. There’s some kind of fancy bath gels on a tray next to it but he vaguely remembers reading that you shouldn’t use bubble bath with a spa.

“Jets? No jets?”

“Maybe jets?” says Dennis, tentative. “I’ve never been in one of these. I might hate it.”

“I reckon you’ll love it,” says Ashley. He lights a candle, then another, and he turns the light out. Dennis takes a sip of his sparkling and makes a face. Ashley laughs. “Don’t worry, there’s beer as well. Come on, this is going to take an age to fill up.”

Ashley takes Dennis’s hand and leads him back into the main room. He turns the main light off and turns the bedside lamp on. He takes Dennis’s glass and puts it down on the table next to the flowers, puts both hands flat against Dennis’s chest. Dennis breathes in hard. Ashley can feel Dennis’ nipples tighten beneath his palms, and he can’t help his own indrawn breath.

“Is this okay?” he asks. Dennis nods. Ashley slowly draws his fingers up across Dennis’s shoulders and then out and down his biceps, his forearms, to the backs of his hands, his fingertips. He is reverent, threading their fingers together. This thing between them — it was simple and rough and now it’s tentative, delicate. This is entirely new territory, this dance, this give and take. 

He turns Dennis’s palm over and traces a fingertip down its middle, a thrill running through him when Dennis shudders ever so slightly. Dennis lifts a hand to Ashley's face and caresses his jaw in wonder, carding through the scruff of his beard, the pad of his finger soft as it sneaks around the shell of his ear. Ashley’s eyes fall shut. There’s nothing but the sound of the water running, Dennis’s touch on his skin, the faint scent of champagne, musk and smoke. The fingers continue around the top of his ear, down again, down the side of his neck, around to the nape of his neck and gentle nails scritch into his hairline and his toes curl. 

“Look at me?” asks Dennis, and Ashley opens his eyes, a moan on his lips. Dennis is gazing back at him, so open, guileless, so damn _young_ , really, a moment of hesitation again, those searching looks. And then Dennis lifts his hand again, runs the edge of his thumb along Ashley’s soft lower lip, his look never wavering, and Ashley just licks the tip of it, sucks it into his mouth, feels Dennis’s other hand tighten on his hip. 

“I _want_ you,” breathes Dennis, “more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life.”

Ashley swirls his tongue around Dennis’s thumb, draws back and kisses the tip, cups Dennis’s hand in his own and kisses his palm. “The feeling’s mutual,” he says, into Dennis’s hand, lowering his eyes.

They undress each other, slowly, carefully, in silence apart from the splash of the spa in the next room. They kiss each inch of new skin that is revealed. Ashley is obsessed with Dennis’s tattoos, each stark black line against his pale skin. Dennis is in his arms, back against Ashley’s chest as Ashley reaches around to unbuckle his pants, lower his fly. When he pulls his pants and underwear down together, and Dennis bends over to pull them off his feet, Ashley gasps out loud, grabs a handful of that plump globe, traces a finger across the dragon slowly until Dennis laughs, “Can I stand up yet or are you gonna be there all night?” And Ash lets him stand, twists him around and holds him at arm's length, both hands grasped around his forearms, stroking and stroking.

By the time they are both naked, clothes neatly folded in piles on the dresser, cocks erect, lips parted, they are both breathless, vibrating with desire. Ashley leads Dennis into the bathroom again, feeling ridiculous, shy. He turns off the taps and feels the water — it’s perfect, just on the hot side of warm, just what exhausted muscles need. He presses the button on the side that starts the bubbles swirling through it and laughs a little when Dennis jumps at the hum of it. “After you, darling,” he says.

Dennis gets into the tub and moans wantonly as he sits down. “Ohhhhhhh, my _godddd_. Are you actually kidding?”

“Good?”

“It’s _spectacular_.”

Ashley climbs in opposite Dennis and leans back, enjoying the heat and the smell of the candles — vanilla, he thinks, and a hint of something else? Mandarine, maybe. He takes Dennis' left foot in both hands, and starts to knead into the knots, smiling as Dennis throws his head back and groans out loud. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants,” quips Dennis, as Ashley goes to switch feet.

“Is it working?” asks Ashley, and Dennis laughs, then moans again, low and lush as Ashley presses in deeper.

“Fuck yes,” answers Dennis, eyes closed, the long column of his neck exposed in the steam. Ashley keeps catching a glimpse of that gorgeous little mole on his neck, wants to kiss it, follow that signpost up and up until there are tongues and hot hands and _fuck_ but he missed this man, has thought of nothing all week but being _consumed_ by him. He catches himself again, forces himself back into the moment. 

“Let me take care of you…” whispers Ashley, as he runs both hands up Dennis’s calf, massaging gently, takes one hand and finds the soap — also ridiculously fancy shit, cream-coloured and stamped with ‘the white company’ in delicate capitals — and lathers Dennis’s leg up, soft and silky, the scent of verveine and citrus wafting up. He washes Dennis, in quiet devotion, climbs into his lap once he’s done his legs, settling on his thighs — good lord, those _thighs_. He’s only too aware of their cocks almost touching, of his balls resting against Dennis’s warm wet skin. Dennis’s full length rising up towards his stomach out of the water. Dennis looks blissed out already, his hand on Ashley’s flank, a fluttering presence like he isn’t sure what to do with it. Ashley washes up Dennis’s chest, his sides, his armpits and Dennis squirms, just a little.

Eventually, Ashley puts the soap down on the rim of the bath, and shuffles forward more fully into Dennis’s lap.

“You still with me?” he asks, bemused.

Dennis cocks open one eye and hums, wraps one hand around the back of Ashley’s neck and pulls him in for a slow, languorous kiss, tongue dipping into Ashley’s mouth like a sweet promise. Ashley grinds against Dennis’s crotch, the soapy slide sending shivers down his legs. 

“I’m so bloody relaxed,” says Dennis, “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to move again.”

Ashley rocks against him again, drawing a moan from both of them. “I’m happy to stay here forever,” he offers. 

Ashley rises up to kiss Dennis again, his thighs straining slightly with the effort, his hands on Dennis’s shoulders. Dennis puts his own hands out, half-hearted, but whether to pull Ashley close or to hold him at bay is moot. The moment his fingertips brush against the soft peaks on Ashley’s chest, they contract, harden and Ashley whimpers and squirms on Dennis’s lap.

“Mmmm, fuck,” murmurs Dennis, and he brushes the same spot, over now pebbled skin. “Sensitive, eh?” Ashley just bites his lip, coy.

“I can take it harder…” he says, quiet.

“I remember,” says Dennis, and he pinches Ashley’s now firm nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugs it outwards — fuck, it’s so intense, a direct electric line from his chest to his cock. He’s torn between leaning forward to relieve the pressure and leaning away to prolong the pleasure of the pain. Dennis smiles wickedly as Ashley squirms again, pinches the other nipple just as hard, twists it. Ashley grunts.

“Hmmm?” asks Dennis.

“Hurts,” says Ashley.

“Too much?” asks Dennis, not letting go, and Ashley squirms in place, shakes his head, hot, flushed. “Well, you’ll just have to take it then, won’t you? For me.” He grasps both Ashley’s nipples firmly, and rubs the nubs in his grip, pulls, watching closely as Ashley’s head lolls back and he breathes in deep through it. Wriggles again, the stiff solidity of Dennis’s prick pressing against his belly.

“Want you,” says Ashley. “ _God_.” 

“Yeah?” asks Dennis, rough, gravel in his voice.

“Kiss me.”

“Pushy,” Dennis laughs, but he does as he’s told, lets Ashley’s nipples go, soothes them then lets his hands wander up and over Ashley’s shoulders, to the back of his head, pulls him in for a deep kiss, angling his head just so, tongue seeking and retreating, over and over. One hand wanders down Ashley’s back, cups his arse, and Ashley pushes back towards it.

He pulls back from the kiss just long enough to say, “Yeah, there, fingers… _please_ …” 

Dennis’s hand rubs slow soapy circles across Ashley’s hip and buttock, but goes no closer to where Ashley desperately wants it. Dennis kisses the side of Ashley’s mouth, the soft bristles of his beard, and murmurs, “I don’t actually know what I’m doing, this bit, y’know? Show me?”

Ashley’s eyes widen a little. He’d actually forgotten for a moment there that Dennis hasn’t done this before. He’s just so fucking _confident_ , you would never know. Ash drags his mind back into coherence. 

“Erm, soap your fingers up — it’s shocking lube, but it’s what we’ve got.”

Dennis reaches to the side and liberally lathers his hand up. “Now what?”

Ashley widens his legs, raises himself a little again. “Just… rub the tip of one finger around the rim… ohhhh… yeah, like that, get everything really slippery.” He hides his face in the crook of Dennis’s neck.

“So soft…”

“Mmmm. Now gently, slowly slide that… oh god… _in_ … yeah.”

“It’s… silky!” Dennis sounds absolutely shocked and Ash recalls the first time he’d done this, nods. It’s like no other skin in the body, smooth and spongy. He’s been with a girl precisely once in his life, remembers the weirdness of ridges and internal bumps. He imagines Dennis is having the reverse experience. 

“Uh huh,” is all he says, though, as his arse clenches and flutters on the intrusion. “You can go deeper, but slowly.” He rocks back a little, can’t help it. Dennis finger-fucks him, achingly slow, and the water laps at their legs, his balls. 

“You’ll… _nnnngh…_ feel when you can put another finger in,” murmurs Ashley. It’s close now, that shuddery moment when he sinks into the feeling, starts to crave more. Thinks about the girth of Dennis’s big dick and how much more he’ll need to stretch to take that. He whines at the thought and Dennis asks, “Ready?” Ashley nods and then gasps out, “Yeah… please…”

The second finger slides in on the next thrust, almost no resistance, and Ashley groans. He feels his body ripple around Dennis’s digits, and release. 

“Wow, that’s quite a grip!” says Dennis, and Ashley laughs. 

“So your girlfriends weren’t very adventurous, then?” he asks. Dennis shakes his head. “Well, to be fair, they don’t have a prostate… Stop moving for a second… uhhh… so I can think?”

He grinds down a little on Dennis’s fingers and leans forward to kiss him when he grins. 

“Let me induct you into the ancient order of masculine bliss. You’re looking for a small walnut inside me, towards you, in this position. So crook your fingers and push in a little…”

“I can’t find… oh, is that…”

“You don’t need to … _ohhhhh unghhh_ … press hard… _yeah, fuck, that’s_ it… just brush it a little.”

Dennis is a quick learner, goes back to rhythmic thrusts, now with the end of each stroke just tapping against that sensitive organ. Ashley tries desperately not to move but finds himself rising and falling, his balls dipping into the warmth of the water every time, between Dennis’s slightly parted thighs, meeting Dennis’s strokes, his chest heaving in time to match — up, down, up, down. 

He pushes himself against Dennis’s body, chest to chest, kisses him frantically. Fuck, it feels so _good._

Dennis’s cock slips underneath him as he sits back down, sliding along the soft skin of his sac. “Ohhh my god,” Dennis moans, and Ashley smiles quietly to himself. 

“Uh huh…” he says, rising up again. Dennis takes his fingers out of Ashley’s hole, grips his hips. For a moment Ashley wants to chase that feeling but then his body is just rutting, cock pressed into the firm planes of Dennis’s abdomen, arse and balls sliding along his massive slippery length. 

They rock like that for a while, trading kisses, Dennis’s nails down Ashley’s back, Ashley’s fingertips digging into Dennis’s hips, the scent of soap and their own musk in the air, and the taste of each other, the wet suck of their bodies. 

Ashley lathers his hand up again, leans back and reaches beneath him to soap up Dennis’s cock, sits back down on it. He’s teasing himself with rubbing it against his rim, grinds playful circles with his hips, trying to make Dennis moan out loud again, when Dennis thrusts up suddenly a little and the tip slips in and it’s everything he can do not to just bear down and try to take more of it in. Dennis is staring at him, open-mouthed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I mean… we can’t…” stammers Dennis.

“Hey,” Ashley says calmly, “is this a sexuality crisis or something else? Bit late for the one and the others I can handle.” He moves carefully off the lad’s lap though, stroking down one thigh, soothing.

“I don’t have a… don’t we need a condom?”

“Ah, that,” says Ashley, moving his hand back to stroking Dennis’s cock. “We could do, but I’m on PrEP, so I’m fine as far as HIV’s concerned. Don’t have it, can’t get it, can’t give it to you. There’s other things you could catch, but there are antibiotics for most of those. Still happy to use one if you want me to, of course.”

“Okay,” says Dennis, sounding dubious.

“The main reason to stop that is that I’m nowhere near ready to take your glorious endowments with only soap to ease the path, as it were.”

“Fair enough,” says Dennis.

“Also, seriously, spunk in a bath tub is just revolting.”

“Eww,” says Dennis.

The moment has passed, a little, so they fill the tub up a bit more with hot water, and Ashley washes himself while they talk, Dennis just watching him with hooded eyes.

“Did I hurt you too much, before?” asks Dennis, gentle hand running up and down Ashley’s calf.

“The nipple play? Naw, I love it.”

“Are you into that, pain and all? Like for real?”

Ashley takes a deep breath. “Yes?”

Dennis leans forward, and it’s clear he’s curious, not critical. “Like what?”

“Like — what you were doing earlier, and being spanked. It’s not so much the pain. I like being — I don’t know — pushed around, told what to do. Like you said the other day — held down.” He’s flushed again, just saying it. Knows what it says about him, has already worked through all the palaver about Dan at school, but doesn’t want to give it up, the way it makes him feel, the floaty hotness of struggling, the frisson of danger in the threat.

Dennis circles a hand loosely around Ashley’s wrist. “Will you show me?” 

Ashley stares at him a tad.

“I mean,” Dennis continues, “if I’m going to spank you at some point, I feel like I should know what it feels like, right?”

“You…” Ashley’s brain judders to a halt. “Yeah, yes, happy to show you. It’s not something I’m particularly experienced at, from that side of it?”

“Now?” 

“I mean… okay? You know I’m the farthest thing from dominant on the planet, right? Once let a guy stay for three days after what should have been a one-night-stand because I was too pathetic to assert myself?”

Dennis leans over and kisses him, closed mouth, soft. “I know…” He puts both hands on the edges of the tub, pushes himself up and steps out, reaching for one of the fluffy white hotel towels, which he wraps around his waist. He grabs a second one and helps Ashley out of the bath, wraps him in it and kisses him again. “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he says.

Ashley knows the feeling. He’s nervous, though, about this next bit, isn’t quite sure what Dennis is looking for.

They dry themselves off, discard the towels and head back into the bedroom, Ashley walking backwards as they kiss yet again. He sits down when the back of his knees hit the bed. 

“So, um, get on your hands and knees, I guess?” he says, awkward.

Dennis fucking _winks_ at him, the bastard, and climbs onto the bed. He looks back over his shoulder. “Like this?”

Ashley kneels next to him and experimentally taps him on the back of his fucking gorgeous thigh. “Yeah, exactly like that, you brat.” He laughs. Holy shit, _his arse_ , with that incredible tattoo — the dragon a matched pair with St George on his horse on Dennis’ bicep, the red cross on his shield the only colour, the dragon’s head twisted over its shoulder, fire streaming from its mouth, those bat-like wings erupting from the shoulders of its leonine body and the coiled threat of its reptilian tail. He grabs a handful of it and squeezes, caresses the curve of Dennis’s hip. Dennis is still hard, his dick hanging down beneath him. “Ready?” Ashley cups his hand, and draws it back. Waits.

“Yeah,” says Dennis. Ashley lets his hand fall, half-hearted. There’s a dull thuddy sound and Dennis say, “ _Harder_ than that…” so Ashley spanks him properly, just a couple of thwacks, one on each buttock, and he’s about to make some joke that it’s his turn when he sees something in the set of Dennis’s shoulders, and when he looks more closely, he can see Dennis is no longer hard, that there are tears in his eyes.

“Hey, whoa…” he says, taken aback.

“Don’t stop,” says Dennis. 

“No way,” says Ashley, going to pull him up, pull him close.

“You don’t understand,” Dennis sniffles. “I’ve done so much awful stuff.”

“I can’t do that…”

“Please, I need it.” He’s pleading, eyes brimming with unshed tears. It hits Ashley in the guts, the parallels here, him looking for praise and approval from guys who look like his bullies, and here’s Dennis looking for retribution from guys who look like his victims. Weirdly, he’s still one of the least fucked up people he knows.

“Just one, okay?” he says, finally. “But I promise I’ll make it count. And then it’s over, okay, and you’re forgiven?” Dennis nods. “C’mere,” says Ashley, drawing Dennis down across his lap. He thinks back to times he’s had a really good scene with someone, what it felt like. He puts one hand firmly on the back of Dennis’s neck, presses down, and feels Dennis settle under it. He sort of knows what’s coming. He doesn’t want to think about what sort of perverse confessional he’s running here.

He rubs his other hand over Dennis' cheeks, draws it back and hits Dennis hard, a loud crack across the centre of him. Dennis folds into himself and utterly loses it, curls up into Ashley’s lap wracked with sobs, and Ashley holds him close. Somewhere among all the blubbering, Ashley hears words like ‘just left him there’ and ‘pathetic excuse’ and he whispers into Dennis’s hair, “Shhh, shhh, you’re okay,” and wonders how the hell they got here from where they were. Under any other circumstances, he’d be looking for ways to escape this, would feel trapped — both literally and metaphorically — by this situation and instead, he feels like he’s where he needs to be. There’s some inexpressable change that’s just occurred here, some transaction — no, some _covenant_ — that’s more intimate than if they _had_ just had sex. As it is, Ashley pets Dennis’s hair, rubs gentle circles over his shoulder blades, comforts and soothes him until his body stops shaking and he turns red-rimmed eyes and a snotty nose up towards him, embarrassed and awkward.

“I’m sorry,” Dennis eventually says.

“Nothing to apologise for,” says Ashley. “Think that’s probably still on me.”

“You’re bein’ too nice to me,” says Dennis. “I ain’t done nuffink to deserve it.”

“Listen, we’re all of us imperfect. There was this bloke at school, Dan, used to beat me. And now I chase after men like you who remind me of him, because it turns me on when you’re rough with me. You’ve hurt people — for real — and now you’re afraid because _you_ want to hurt _me_ and that excites you. But it’s okay, my darling. It’s okay if the thought of hurting me turns you on, because it fucking turns me on too.”

“How are you even real?” asks Dennis.

“Don’t get me wrong — it’s still scary. I’m terrified of how much I want you. And my history and your history — that’s probably why I reacted so poorly the other day. It’s all a bit too close to home, ye know? I was projecting my bully onto you. But Dennis — you’re a better man than he was.”

“How’d’you figure that?”

“Because you’re trying to fix the damage you’ve done, and he never did.”

Dennis stares at him for a moment, and then hugs Ashley very tightly. They don’t talk much after that, and eventually Ashley can hear Dennis’s breathing change, and slow, and in some amazement at himself, he snuggles in and they sleep.

* * *

It’s not the first time Ashley has woken up in bed with someone the morning after, but it might well be the first time he’s woken up with someone he cares about, after a night where they didn’t actually have sex and where one of them bawled his eyes out in the other’s arms. It’s made more awkward by the fact that he wakes to find Dennis sprawled over him, chin in hand, hard cock pressing into his thigh. His own cock is definitely more awake than he is, and wondering why he isn’t on board yet.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” says Dennis.

“Mmmm,” says Ashley, eloquent without his caffeine. “Hello…”

“When’s check-out?”

“10, I think?” says Ashley.

“Good. Got heaps of time. I keep… fuck, I keep wanting to go down on you,” says Dennis, his other hand creeping down Ashley’s chest, fingers splayed.

“Well, I’m not complaining, am I? Have at it…” Ashley responds.

“Nah, I mean…” Dennis shrugs, embarrassed. “I’m just used to…”

“Thought we covered this,” says Ashley, curious, bemused. “I’m not a girl, ducky.” He half-sits up, gestures at his raging hard-on that is flagrantly in Dennis’s face. 

“I _know_ that… but…” Dennis squirms and it’s absolutely adorable. “You know what you were saying earlier, about wanting things even when you know they’re wrong? I don’t even know if this is a thing…”

Ashley suddenly cottons on to what Dennis is banging on about and it’s a sodding _brilliant_ idea. He can feel even more blood rush to his cock at the thought of Dennis’s warm tongue on him _there_. Fuck.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Yes, it’s a thing. Hang on. On my front or on my back?”

Dennis has gone a delicious shade of pink. “Um… back? I’m more used to…” 

“Course you are.” Ashley wriggles back, lifts his legs over his head, spreads his cheeks, shameless. “S’called rimming. And I’m clean as a whistle, after last night, promise.” He gazes down at Dennis, at the shaved sides of his gorgeous noggin between his legs, and the way the blush is going halfway down the boy’s chest and the way he literally just _licked his lips_ and Ash knows this is one of the best decisions of his life.

He can feel Dennis hands gripping his hips, and Ashley is strapping in for the ride.

He looks down again to see the tip of Dennis’s tongue trapped between his teeth, teasing, as he leans in and, _Jesus_ , presses a chaste, tentative kiss on Ashley’s perineum, sending sparks flying everywhere, from those two square centimetres up and away, right into Ashley’s brain, instantaneously setting his every nerve ending on fire.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ashley breathes, his ability to speak completely obliterated. He’s annoyed with himself, honestly. He’s a goddamned _paramedic_. Ought to remember the name of the bit of the brain that controls that. _Something_ area. Begins with B. To be fair, he’s only been awake for five minutes or so and there’s another press of soft lips to flesh and he entirely loses track of whatever he was thinking just a second ago. _So good already, you’re doing so good._

Another kiss, then. Firmer, more confident. A high-pitched moan ripples through Ashley’s body like a violent waterfall. 

Another kiss, more tongue now. Deep eyes glazed, light green darkened with lust, inquiring. _Is this good?_ , they seem to ask. Ashley still can’t talk, but he lets out another throaty groan, catches his lower lip between his teeth and nods frantically. Dennis’s brow unfurrows, and his face relaxes, adheres to the most intimate bits of Ashley oh-so-perfectly, and Ashley feels like he’s just been sent on a one-way trip straight to heaven.

Dennis’s nose grazes Ashley’s balls, then, and suddenly it’s all very real — hands on Ashley’s hamstrings, pushing his legs away, looking for more, more space, access, and he never fucking stops fucking looking at him as he sticks his tongue out and licks a long stripe across Ashley’s hole. Ashley throws his head back and grips his own ankles harder.

He should have known Dennis would have an oral fixation. He starts out with kitten licks, over and over, flicking that talented tongue across Ashley’s rippled skin, and then he just delves in, slurping and lapping at him. He’s _humming_ , making little noises of happiness, like this is his favourite dessert, which would be disconcerting if it didn’t feel so bloody _incredible_. He swirls his tongue around and then licks again, and Ashley has relaxed enough that on Dennis’s next pass, his tongue dips _in_ just a touch and Ashley moans, low and long.

“Oh really?” says Dennis, stroking along Ashley’s inner thigh and up to his bollocks and back again. “Well, that’s a bit different…” He grins, like he’s never been one to turn away from a challenge, and bends back down, pointing his tongue and just going for it, thrusting in as far as he can reach. Ashley reaches down to his cock, and tugs at himself, needs that touch right now, as Dennis tongue-fucks his arse and _Christ_ but it’s every bit as hot as he’d imagined.

Dennis brings a finger up to Ashley’s rim, wets it liberally with his own spit, drooling onto Ashley and then slides the finger in alongside his tongue and Ashley shouts before he can think to stop himself. “ _Fuck…_ ” he says again, his hand moving a little faster on himself. Dennis is a _fucking_ fast learner, if last night was really his first time fingering a guy, because he’s smooth as a motherfucker when he spits onto his fingers again and slides in a second one, scissors them apart slightly and licks between them, keeping up the rhythm and then curving them up just a little when they bottom out until Ashley is having trouble keeping still and gasps out, “Gonna… gonna… oh, _god…_ ” and then comes all over his own chest, pulse after pulse, his balls pulled up tight, his rim clenching on Dennis’s fingers and every muscle in his legs quivering in time with his ragged heartbeat.

Dennis looks like the cat that got the cream when he plonks himself down next to Ashley, swipes at the grin on his face with the back of his hand and then surreptitiously wipes the whole mess on the coverlet. “That was _filthy_ ,” he says, “And I _loved_ it.”

“Mmm,” Ashley says, eyes still closed, chest still heaving. “I could tell.”

Dennis ruts against the outside of Ashley’s thigh, can’t stop moving. Ashley realises he was probably grinding against the bed that whole time, and makes a desultory move towards him, feels like he ought to return a favour, but Dennis brushes him off, leans in and kisses him, deep and slow, shifting and rubbing against his side the whole time. “Just wanna feel it, just… let me…” and Ashley nods, sated and wordless, kissing and kissing, for what feels like hours, that huge cock stiff against him, and Dennis’s taut body, and those muscles in his back contracting and releasing, speeding up ever so slowly until eventually Ashley wraps one hand around the back of Dennis’s neck and the other between them around his dripping cock, and Dennis thrusts up into that tight circle of Ashley’s fist over and over, until he’s panting, “You… you… I… you’re… _unggghgh…_ ” into Ashley’s mouth and he spills hot and sharp onto Ashley’s belly and Ashley strokes him through the aftershocks. They both collapse onto their backs, panting and ecstatic.

* * *

“Okay, I’ll help,” Ashley says as he passes Dennis the syrup for the incredible waffles. Room service. As amazing as he’d expected.

“Huh?” says Dennis, mouth full. 

“With Clare.”

Dennis shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. You were right. It weren’t fair for me t’ask you.”

Ashley shrugs. “Maybe, but I reserve the right to change my mind. I get it now. I’m not on duty tomorrow, and I know some people who might be able to help us find her.”

Dennis swallows. “That would be incredible. _Thank you._ ”

“I’ll see if I can get some stuff for her — that’s the bit I’m still uncomfortable with, but I’ll see what I can do. Not equipment, but spare meds. They go missing all the time. I’ve been thinking about that fire and the timing, and she might be having delayed onset symptoms of nitric oxide poisoning. And if I’m right, she’s in trouble.”

“I don’t know what to say,” says Dennis.

Ashley kisses him instead of responding. He tastes like cinnamon and comfort. Ashley sighs and licks into him, savouring every moment.

* * *

He’s smiling to himself when he gets a text from Dennis that afternoon at work — back into their rhythm, like it was never interrupted. He changes out of his uniform and swings by the cubbies, out of habit. To his surprise, there’s an envelope in his, from head office. 

He opens it — it’s an offer of a promotion, but it comes with strings attached. Reassignment to Liverpool, hours and hours away. He’s got a vague memory of a chat a long while back, where he said he’d be happy to move, if it came down to it, since he’d no strings attached.

But that was _before_. Now, the idea of leaving doesn’t bear thinking about — he’s only _just_ got Dennis back. Stu would tell him it’s all just serotonin — just a cascade of brain chemistry making him feel good. Serotonin and oxytocin and dopamine. Getting addicted to the hit. 

From where he’s standing, though, it doesn’t feel like synapses firing and neurotransmitters connecting in some calculated, measurable, sensible way.

It’s starting to feel like more than that. It’s starting to feel like fondness and shy smiles across a room and, god help him, _holding hands walking through a park_. It’s starting to feel like this unfamiliar tightness in his chest at the thought of being five hours away and only a voice on a phone of a night, only a text on a screen. It’s starting to feel — _serious_. 

What if Dennis doesn’t feel the same way? He’s only 19, after all. Sounds a bit ridiculous, if he thinks about it. And Ashley’s been waiting for this promotion for a year. He’s so conflicted — no idea how to do a regular-distance relationship let alone a long-distance one. If he stays, it’s 50/50 he’ll cock it all up anyhow. 

He stuffs the letter in his pocket. That’s tomorrow’s problem. Maybe they can talk about it after they get back from finding Clare.

He texts Dennis back, _So hot. Not sure how you can walk with all that gear on, though. I might have to take it off you. Slowly._ And he adds a winky face, for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix would also like to thank [upsidedownertron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/upsidedownertron), who has been an offline figure of support for me since way back when but has now been persuaded to get an Ao3 account. Their assistance discussing plot and the finer points of sauna etiquette and what’s actually possible for two cock-owners in a spa were invaluable. 
> 
> The bath tub itself is a piece of fan service for the lovely [babynavyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babynavyblue) and also from the fabulous line in One Man, Two Guvnors aired recently on National Theatre Live: “In an ideal world I’d be home by now relaxing in a hot bath with a fireman...” Wouldn’t we all, love?


	5. Ensure a good seal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! This is Phoenix, your friendly purveyor of porn with plot. The majority of this chapter is my fault as you might have noticed the fabulous [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus) has been working on some amazing Madderton quarantine fic that you should all go and read immediately after you’ve finished this if you haven’t read it already.
> 
> It’s still a joint effort though and so again, I’d like to thank C for hammering out plotbunnies, discussing huge cocks and possibly a little too much staring at Taron’s thighs while he reads children’s books camply for charity.
> 
> Thanks to [upsidedownertron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/upsidedownertron) for a huge cocks sensitivity read (no pun intended, but fuck that’s hilarious). Thanks to them and Em and C for being honest with me that the lines about cervixes and why dildoes have flared bases were awesomely realistic and really hilarious but maybe possibly detracted from the flow of the porn. (Literally 4000 words of this chapter is porn and I’m not sorry.)

“Wasn’t sure you’d show,” says Dennis, when Ashley pulls up out the front of the address Dennis had given him.

It’s one of those sketchy estates he’s familiar with from his youth — the Glasgow Southside where Ashley grew up is positively crammed with them. When he’d first moved, the idealised image he had in his head made him believe he would never find them in London, but now he knows better. Youths in Adidas trackies and fake-Vuitton man bags skittering around at every hour of the day and night, babies crying, mums yelling in thick Cockney accents, battered front doors, moulding walls — he’s visited places like this professionally far too often.

Night’s just falling as Dennis climbs into the car and buckles in. Ashley has a moment where he wants to lean over and kiss him hello before he remembers where they are. He can handle not kissing him; he isn’t sure he could handle Dennis flinching from him or twisting away. He touches his hand across the gear stick instead as they pull away from the kerb.

“So, where’s the first stop?” asks Dennis.

“Would you believe a bar?”

“Ash, if this is just an excuse to take me clubbing…”

Ashley smiles broadly. “Nah, but if we get a drink or two in, I won’t complain.”

They park a few blocks from the bar, and walk back. “Am I going to stand out like a sore thumb in there?” asks Dennis. 

Ashley looks him over — dark blue T-shirt, those guns with the tattoo peeking out from the sleeve. That amazing bum just barely packed into tight jeans. He swallows. “Not in the sense I think you mean,” he says. “Are you going to object if I get a bit possessive if anyone comes near you?”

Dennis flashes a look at him that is all heat. “That hadn’t even occurred to me,” he says. “If anyone tries to touch _you_ , I’m going to ’ave a very hard time not decking ’em.”

Ashley’s suddenly warm, flushing all over. He’s never been in favour of violence as a solution to anything but suddenly understands the Neanderthal instinct to swoon in the face of a strong man planning to defend his honour. Jesus. He squeezes Dennis’s hand. “Hot as that is,” he admits, “let’s try not to start a brawl, okay?”

The outside of the club is festooned with rainbow flags and there are bouncers up front letting the broad variety of people through the barrier three or four at a time, shirtless brawny white men in blue jeans with black leather harnesses, a tough-looking woman in a white T-shirt covered in badges, her arms around a teal-haired punk wearing coral lipstick and a T-shirt saying ‘gender rebel’, four cute Korean boys with quiffs and eyeliner. Ashley leads Dennis to the front, speaks to the bouncer, and they’re waved through.

Inside, it’s dark, almost industrial, with fluorescent lights illuminating the bar, the stage, the dance-floor, purple, green, hot pink. There are large metal sheet walls with bolts the size of a 50p piece and huge round portholes cut in them. People are sitting in these nooks, their drinks glowing under the UV. 

At the bar, Ashley orders two beers from the fit bloke wearing only an open leather vest and short-shorts, and asks him which of his friends might be in tonight. The bartender points to one of the nooks near the stage. Ashley looks over, nods, pays and takes the drinks back to Dennis. He hands one over and motions for Dennis to follow him. They thread their way through the crowd.

“Sweetie!” Ashley yells over the music, into the ear of a six-foot tall drag queen, emerald dress glittering, matching green sparkling lipstick and eyeshadow shining out of a slightly too-white face.

“Ashley, darling!” they yell back. “It’s so good to see you! Gimme five.” Ashley nods and he and Dennis find an empty space a few metres away.

True to their word, Sweetie heads over to where Ashley and Dennis are sitting five minutes later.

“So, who’s _this_ gorgeous specimen, huh?” they coo. 

Ashley grins up at them. “Sweetie, meet Dennis. And hands off.” 

Sweetie lifts both hands up in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Dennis, this is Sweetie. I’ve known them for years. You can trust them.”

“Ashley saved my life,” says Sweetie earnestly to Dennis, and patting Ashley’s hand. “Who knew you could have a heart attack at 28? So, what brings you here?”

“We’re looking for someone I grew up with,” says Dennis. “She’s hiding and she needs help.”

“Well, if she’s hiding, sweetheart, maybe she doesn’t want to be found?”

“She doesn’t,” says Ashley, “but I was hoping you might have an idea where a young trans girl might go if she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Or that you might have heard something about a young girl with pink hair who’s new around town? She’s hard to miss.”

Sweetie’s elegantly drawn-in brow furrows. “No, I haven’t heard anything and if I had, I wouldn’t tell you. Ashley, what you’re doing here is a teensy bit creepy, darling.”

“Sweetie, I hear you. And I know where you’re coming from. But you know me too and I’m telling you this kid is at risk. No one else is showing up for her. What do you want me to do, just let her die?”

“Please,” says Dennis. “She’s only 16. She’s gotta be terrified.”

Sweetie looks into first Dennis’s eyes and then Ashley’s, lips pursed, frowning. “I don’t like it, but I believe you. Where have you looked so far?” They listen, as Dennis outlines what he’s been up to, and honestly, Ashley’s a bit surprised at some of it — Dennis’s sunken eyes and lack of sleep make sense now. Finally, Sweetie cocks their head, and says, “Have you tried the new shelter at the old fire station?” 

And Dennis says, “The wot?”

And Ashley says, “Oh, god, the irony, if that’s where she is.”

Then they have to explain that Dennis is a firefighter and Sweetie says, “That explains the arms,” with a wink, earning a friendly slap on the forearm from Ashley, and then they’re looking up the address of the shelter in Clerkenwell. They buy Sweetie a drink for their trouble and then head out.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” says Dennis, looking at the hostel’s web page on his phone in the car. He plugs the address in and gives Ash directions. It’s so new, it still shows up as the fire station in the map app.

They arrive 20 minutes later, and Dennis realises that he can’t honestly be blamed for not knowing the place was here: from the outside, it still looks nondescript — clean bricks and no signage at all. He guesses that’s part of the appeal of the place.

There’s a small crew of kids hanging around outside the station who look at them curiously as they head over.

Ashley is a little confused when the red front doors are all blocked but Dennis knows fire stations backwards, so he heads straight for the side entrance without thinking. He rings the bell and they’re let in. Inside looks nothing like a fire station _at all_ : the big open space has two huge couches in the middle, one bright red with a pile of plushies on one end, the other a garish red tartan; one wall has a ceiling-high bookshelf on it and another shelf piled with bric-a-brac and pot plants; there’s a coat-rack with a bunch of mis-matched clothes on hangers, and a mix of chairs from red plastic to a big wicker one. The red doors closed across the old fire engine exits are bright contrasts to the hippie mess. 

They’re met by a stocky woman in her mid-50s with a shock of white hair contrasting against her dark brown skin, dressed in denim coveralls.

“Can I help you?” she asks, brusque and efficient. Her arms are folded across her chest.

“Uh, yes?” says Dennis. “We’re looking for a kid with pink hair — Clare — is she here?”

“Who’s asking?” she says.

Ashley goes to touch Dennis’s sleeve, picks up that they’re in trouble here, but Dennis answers too quickly. “An old friend,” he says.

The woman’s visage turns into a scowl. “So let’s just imagine for a second that I knew your friend. She’s found herself a safe haven here in our humble little house. And two men come looking for her. Under what circumstances do you think I would tell you if she were here?”

“It’s not like that,” says Ashley. “She’s just a teenager — and she’s sick. I’m an EMT, and…”

Her eyes narrow. “Wait, are you telling me you’re chasing a _client_ ? We don’t take teenagers, honey, but even if we did, you’re breaking so many ethical guidelines, I don’t know where to start. There are formal channels for a reason and I _know_ you know that.”

Dennis tries to speak again, but she turns to him. “And you listen to me, young man. You and your boyfriend here go home, and have a nice time. I’ll put the word out to youth services for you.”

“Thank you,” says Ashley. “Tell them it’s urgent, will you? Last time we saw her was 10 days ago. If I’m right, I suspect she’s having chills, fever, regularly short of breath and probably vomiting soon. We need to get her proper help in the next few days.”

The proprietor opens her mouth and then closes it again. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I am,” says Ashley, simply. “But I understand you’re just doing your job. Thank you. We’ll keep looking though.” 

They go back out through the same door they entered. “Fuck,” says Dennis. One of the kids outside yells out to them and waves them over. He’s stringy, dirty hair, torn jeans, rollie hanging out from his lip. 

“Heard you were looking for Clare,” he says.

“You know where she is?” asks Dennis.

“Think I might have seen her. What’s it worth?”

Ashley rolls his eyes. “A fiver.”

The kid holds his hand out and Ashley hands over the pounds.

“There’s a squat over on Granger St. Seen her there coupla days ago.”

“How was she?” asks Dennis. 

The kid shrugs. “Messy. Got the flu or summat.”

“Thanks, mate,” says Ashley. 

Dennis writes down the address and then they’re back in the car. They’re both a bit on edge now — saying it out loud that Clare’s at serious risk has made it just that bit more real. They don’t say much on the way to the squat — just a muttered, ‘left here’ and ‘straight on at the roundabout’ to which Ashley mutters back, ‘gaily forward, my friend, never straight’.

It’s gone 10pm by the time they get there and there’s no lights on in the place, at least not visible from the street. Dennis knocks, but no one answers, and when he tries the door, it’s not locked. Ashley shrugs, and they open it and go inside. Dennis flicks on a small torch he brought with him and honestly, Ashley should probably stop being surprised at Dennis by now. He probably would have picked the lock if the door’d been latched. 

The rooms are barren of furniture but not of signs of living — sleeping bags, and milk-crate bookshelves are strewn all over, haphazard. There’s no one home though, and Ashley is just about to say something about getting out of there when there’s light from the front door and a familiar voice yells out, “Police! Anyone in there?” God, the absolute last thing Ashley needs is to get busted by Ryan and Maxine creeping about an abandoned house with Dennis of all people. He’ll never hear the fucking end of it. He looks around frantically for a cupboard or something to hide in but Dennis has grabbed his hand and is pulling him out the back door and into the outside laundry. Dennis shoves him up against the wall and shoves a hand across his mouth. This is getting to be a habit, he thinks to himself, and then tries to tell his dick that this is serious and no time to be getting interested.

They hear Ryan come through to the back of the house and it sounds like he opens and looks out the kitchen window. Then he calls back to Maxine, “No one. Don’t know what the neighbours thought they saw but it’s probably just kids.” 

“Yeah, okay. Let’s be off, then. Waste of time as per,” says Maxine’s voice, closer than they expected. 

They wait for another 10 minutes to be on the safe side and then Dennis takes his hand off Ashley's mouth.

“Um,” says Ashley.

“Shall we call it a night, then?” says Dennis.

Getting pulled over for speeding tonight would _also_ be a bad idea but Ashley’s foot has not been given that message and the way Dennis keeps devouring him with his eyes and kind of just growling isn’t fucking helping in the slightest.

* * *

Back at the house, once they’re through the door, Dennis crowds Ash against the wall. “Want you,” he growls. “Wanna take you apart.”

“Yeah?” asks Ashley. He’s still buzzing from the tension from earlier in the night, the memory of how _competent_ Dennis is, how he just takes control. He’s right up in his face — musky sweat, that oaky cologne, and intoxicating cockiness.

“Yeah,” confirms Dennis. He kicks Ashley’s legs apart and steps even closer. He pulls Ashley’s head to the side roughly, fingers threaded through auburn curls, and then he plasters his mouth to Ashley’s exposed neck and sucks in a bruise, rough and fast, pauses only to bite that same spot a little and then sucks on it again. Ashley gasps and goes up on his toes, his crotch pushing against Dennis’s as he does, his hands scrabbling for purchase across Dennis’ shoulders, his back.

When he finally comes up for air, Ashley tries to kiss Dennis but finds his jaw in a vice grip, holding him back. Dennis lets go of his hair and reaches down to the zip of Ashley’s jeans. “My turn,” he says. He undoes the button of Ashley’s fly, unzips him and reaches in, cups his hardening cock in his palm. “Want to watch you.” 

Ashley nods, his movement limited by Dennis’ hold. Fuck, that’s hot, honestly. How fucking _strong_ Dennis is. He thrusts up into Dennis’ hand, seeking movement, pressure, anything but this tension. Dennis’ lip curls up and his pupils dilate a touch more. _Fuck._

Dennis strokes Ashley’s cock through his underwear, feeling the shape and heft of him. “Nice,” he says, and grips him tighter, eases off. Part of Ashley’s brain is frantically thinking they should discuss this more, negotiate, given this electric edge he seems to be on, the frisson of danger. Sure it’s hot as hell, but he reminds himself that this man with his hand wrapped around Ashley’s dick was saying only days before that hitting people turned him on. _Stop exaggerating_ , argues his logical brain. _That’s not what he said at all_. Dennis licks his lips and looks down for a moment as he strokes Ashley firmly up and down his entire length. _Also you practically just gave him permission to do exactly this last night. Careful what you wish for?_ Ashley’s brain makes the potentially risky decision to short-circuit and just sink into the sensation.

He zones out for a while, whimpers every so often on a particularly perfect twist of Dennis’s wrist, eventually finds himself begging, like he knew he would. 

“You’re a stunner,” says Dennis. “Fuckin’ glorious. Look at you, like putty.”

“ _Please…_ ” says Ashley again or for the fourth time. He’s not sure. 

“Come on,” says Dennis, as if Ashley had never spoken. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

He pulls Ashley off the wall by his waist, and untucks his shirt. He spins him around 40 degrees or so to point him in the direction of the bedroom and gives him a little shove in the lower back to get him moving. He crowds in behind him as they walk, holding onto his belt loops, awkward, stumbling, chewing on his neck every so often like he can’t keep his mouth off of him. Ashley isn’t complaining. 

In the bedroom, Dennis spins him again, pulls his shirt out of his pants, unbuttons it and flings it aside. He pushes Ashley back onto the bed and climbs over him, on all fours, drops his head to kiss him for what feels like the first time in forever. He tastes like salt and honey.

Ashley stretches out as Dennis pulls his shoes off, each sock, his work pants and underwear in one rough movement, revealing Ashley’s stiff prick. Lies back, his arms above his head, a light sheen of sweat covering the fur on his chest. Dennis prowls back up, nips at his side, swirls a tongue in his belly button, licks lower still. 

He looks up at Ashley, predatory. “Been waiting for this. Wanted to do it yesterday but you was too quick for me.” He swirls his tongue around the head of Ashley’s cock and Ashley squirms. “You just lie back and enjoy, all right? Maybe hold onto the headboard…” Then he goes to town, bobbing up and down like this isn’t the first cock he’s sucked and Ash was so close to the edge to begin with it takes him almost no time at all before he’s babbling and pleading again, begging to come, holding off as much as he can. 

Dennis growls around his mouthful and then pops off with a loud squelch and licks his lips. “My decision, hey, Ash? I like that. A lot.” He licks across Ashley’s slit again. “I could get used to that.”

Ashley whines, in the back of his throat, tightens his grip on the bed and tries to buck his hips towards Dennis’s mouth but Dennis holds his thighs down. “Oh, no. Stay still, baby.” Fuck, he could get used to this too.

Dennis sits back like he’s thinking. “So if I wanna fuck you tonight, is it better if you come now or not?”

Oh, god. That makes his breath catch and his cock twitch. “Either. Both. Yes. _Please._ ”

Dennis laughs out loud at that. “Okay, Ash. Tell me when you’re close again, okay? I wanna hear you ask me every time.” Ashley nods, frantically and Dennis bends back down, wraps those sinful lips around Ashley’s shaft and it’s only four or five wet slides before he’s begging again. Dennis sinks down one more time and back up, then pulls off and wanks Ashley firmly. “Come for me, baby,” he says and Ashley’s vision whites out for a moment, as Dennis strokes him and strokes him until it’s too much, looking at him proud as punch, and it makes Ashley feel warm all over.

He leans up to kiss him, soft, and yet heated, with Dennis’s hard dick still straining and standing stiff right there. Ashley’s a tiny bit disoriented, spent so long on that edge before he toppled over it that he’s still trying to find his way back to level.

Dennis drags a finger through the come and sheen on Ashley’s belly, rubs it in. He breathes in and wrinkles his nose — they’re both acrid with adrenaline sweat from earlier. Dennis huffs, amused. “Ugh, we stink,” he says.

Ashley kisses him again, closer to solid ground now. “Shower? Sadly, I can’t provide anything like last night.”

“All good,” says Dennis. “You first? But hurry back…” He strokes himself from thick base to bulbous dripping glans, and his eyelids lower involuntarily.

Ashley levers himself off the bed and heads to his bathroom. He uses the toilet and showers — perfunctory, but efficient, eager to get back. He’s only just come so he’s not hard as he washes himself thoroughly along his crack, slips soapy fingers inside himself, but that doesn’t mean the thought of what’s about to happen isn’t making his skin tingle. The image of that huge prick in his mind’s eye, in comparison to the tiny hole he can feel right now — god, it seems impossible, but he wants it so badly. He knows he can stretch, craves that feeling of _too much_ and _so full_. But Dennis might just be bigger than any man he’s had before and the thought is intimidating. He turns the water off and dries himself in the hot steam, relishing the faint tang of woodspice. Vaguely considers wrapping a towel around his lower half and rejects the idea.

When he returns to the room, Dennis is leaning against the headboard, still lazily stroking himself, cock easily up to his navel, proud, purple, prominent veins along the underside. Ashley puts the spare clean towel and face washer down on the bed and sits next to Dennis, caressing his thigh. He feels mesmerised by that hand moving, and that solid flesh, the head peeking out of Dennis’s fist as he moves it down, can’t look away.

“So, were you serious about wanting my cock in your arse?” asks Dennis — it sounds like he was aiming for flirty but there’s an echo of insecurity in it, and Ashley lifts his eyes to meet Dennis’s enquiring gaze.

“Deadly serious,” Ashley hastens to reassure him, hand skating down Dennis’s calf, “ _I want you_. All of you. Fuck, _so_ much.”

“You have no idea how hot that is,” says Dennis, fingertips dancing up Ashley’s leg in return. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Ashley murmurs, “I’m going to be careful, get myself ready for you, big boy.” 

“Show me?” breathes Dennis.

Ashley reaches over the side and under the bed, pulls out a box. He puts it on the bed next to them, takes the lid off it and Dennis’s eyes nearly bug out. The box is filled with a variety of coloured cocks, ribbed black plugs, bullet vibes, soft red rope, nipple clamps and various other toys. Dennis hesitantly touches a set of wicked-looking butterfly clamps and whistles, low; Ashley remembers once again how this might look to an inexperienced man.

“Guess you was genuine about all that, then?” says Dennis. He runs his fingers across the metal, and Ashley feels a shiver of want as he realises that Dennis’ eyes are sparking with mischief and desire, not recoiling in disgust. 

“Not too much for ye?” Ashley asks, anyhow.

“Nah. One day, you’re going to teach me how you like all this stuff.” He runs a hand down the coils of rope, and raises an eyebrow. 

Ashley shrugs, sifts through the collection and lifts out a couple of different-sized dildoes. 

“So the trick” says Ashley, handing Dennis the smaller of the two, “is taking my sweet time stretching to make sure you can slide right in there.” He looks at the big dildo in his hand and then at the real thing in front of him. Jesus Christ, Dennis really is wider than his favourite toy. He has to take a deep breath at that realisation. 

Dennis picks up the towel and washer, and stands up. “I’ll be swift as,” he says.”Don’t get too far ahead without me.”

Ashley can’t help but follow the sight of that glorious arse until Dennis is completely out of sight. He shakes himself, grabs his lube and the extra-large condoms he bought just in case and packs away the rest of the box, stows it back under the bed.

He pops the cap on the lube and liberally coats his fingers. He thinks for a moment about the image he wants to greet Dennis with when he walks back in and turns over, settling onto his stomach, spreads his knees a little and reaches back behind him. It doesn’t take him long to work up to two fingers, as deep as he can get them when it’s his own hand at an awkward angle, starting that familiar ache, all the while picturing Dennis breaching him, that monstrous stretch. He’s aware by now that this is a full-blown kink he’s got going, how desperate he is to be taken — filled — by Dennis, and is ever-so-slightly afraid he’s going to let Dennis down, that his eyes are bigger than his appetite. He gets a third fingertip in, hole drenched in lube, strains to fuck his hand, just as Dennis walks in.

“Fucking hell, what a sight. That’s filthy, mate.” 

“Turns you on though, doesn’t it?” grunts Ashley.

“Like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life,” admits Dennis. He watches for a while longer, stroking himself every now and then, as Ashley moans under the attention. 

Dennis traces down the curve of Ashley’s cheek, next to his hand, and when Ashley looks over his shoulder, the look on Dennis’ face is filled with wonder.

Ashley motions for Dennis to join him on the bed. Dennis smells of Ashley’s soap now, cinnamon and woodsmoke, and it makes Ashley want to kiss him all over. It seems Dennis had the same idea, bending down to Ashley as he tilts his head up, their lips meeting supple and tender. Dennis’s skin is still damp, and warm.

Ashley switches from his fingers and picks up the first dildo he’s chosen, nowhere near as wide as Dennis yet, but wider than his fingers were, lubes it up generously. He turns over to face Dennis, up on his knees.

He locks eyes with Dennis, reaches behind and underneath him, and slowly fucks down onto the toy, moans when it hits the right spot. Dennis is watching him, hungry.

“Anything I should be doing?” asks Dennis, kissing his shoulder.

“You could — _mmmm_ — help me with this?”

Dennis puts his hand over Ashley’s, feels the rhythm of the thrusts for a few moments and then takes over. “Like this?” he asks.

“Yeah,” pants Ashley, “Like that.”

Ash lifts himself up and fucks the dildo, hands on his spread knees, humming. It’s not like he doesn’t fuck himself with something bigger than this literally every other night, but there’s something different about someone else controlling the pace. And when that someone is Dennis — well, he just surrenders himself to the delectable sensation, wrapped in his confident care. He lifts his hand helplessly and it finds skin, caresses down abdominals until it rests on a hip.

“Jesus,” says Dennis, “You’re so fucking _gorgeous_.”

He grunts as it stretches him and he remembers to relax. Dennis is skating fingers up and down his hip as he fucks him with it, seems awed by it all. He lies down next to Ashley and kisses him again, deep and sweet. Ashley floats and loses time for a while. 

Eventually, something in him remembers this is a journey and the transcendent promise of their destination. He drags himself up from his trance-like state, bats away Dennis’s hand, shifts onto his back, and reaches for the dildo that’s the next size up — nine inches long, almost five around — absolutely covers it with lube and hands it to Dennis, guiding him to place its tip at his hole, and slide it in. 

He thrusts down onto the stiff silicon. It’s a good stretch now, and it’s still nowhere near as impressive as Dennis. This is going to be fucking _incredible_. “Can’t wait till it’s you,” he moans, “Oh, fuck…. _Mmmmm…_ ” 

Dennis’s hand tightens on Ashley’s knee, and he slides the dildo in and out of Ashley, smooth, thick. 

“Look at you,” says Dennis. “Just opening up for it.”

Ashley nods, hot, squirms on the intrusion. 

“Let me feel you,” Ashley begs, and Dennis nods. Ashley’s hand wraps part of the way around Dennis’s colossal shaft and they both moan at once.

By the time he’s ready, they’ve been at it for at least half an hour and Ashley is rock hard again and leaking all over himself, little hitching breaths on each thrust and Dennis’s hands roaming all over him, just constant. He’s in his comfort zone now — the familiar bliss of it brimming over into peaks of sparky intensity. It’s like he’s being speared over and over and his body is aflame with it, like St Teresa pierced by the golden shaft. 

Dennis leans in again, gentle press of lip to lip, his tongue just flicking out to taste Ashley.

“Want you,” says Ashley. “In me.”

“Now?” asks Dennis.

“Yeah, _please_ ,” moans Ashley, and Dennis pulls the dildo out. It slides out easily, sopping, and Ashley feels loose, hollow, hungry.

“Oh wow,” says Dennis and Ashley flushes, exposed, knows Dennis is looking at his hole, open and fluttering, so empty right now and Ashley just wants to be filled again more than anything.

“I got condoms,” he manages to say, “if you want…”

Dennis shakes his head. “You said last night. I trust you.”

“You’re trembling.”

He nods. “Nervous…”

“Don’t be. I got you.” Ashley kisses Dennis, soft, gentles a hand down his flank. Dennis goes to grab the lube but Ashley stops him. “Not that one. C’mere…” He grabs the good lube, the really thick one with staying power, warms it, spreads it up and up and up that glorious shaft, over the head. Dennis moans and thrusts forward into it. He hands Dennis the lube, gestures.

“Is your lube seriously called ‘Back Door’?”

“Look, some of them are called ‘Fist Grease’ — I wouldn’t complain.” 

Dennis snorts and squirts a generous amount onto his fingers and pushes it into Ashley. It’s such a tease. Ashley just wants something — anything — in his arse again.

“Slow, right?” Dennis asks. 

“To start with. And face to face, for your first time, so you can look at me and see how much I’m enjoying being split in half by your huge fucking cock.”

Dennis visibly shudders and it’s the hottest thing under the sun. Ashley pulls him down over him, lifts his legs and wraps them around Dennis’s hips, reaches down and positions Dennis’s massive blunt head at the moist entrance of his own body, and holds his breath for a split second. 

He’s stretched, but Dennis is enormous. The first half-inch is nothing — slippery glide into his hungry, open hole. But then it keeps going, wider, back to where he was around the largest dong and then wider still — but true to his word, Dennis is going slow. His eyes have fallen shut, his mouth slightly open. Ashley can still feel him trembling ever so slightly, strokes down his back.

“You’re doing so well, love,” he says. “So beautiful.”

He feels the head pop in, past the first sphincter, and he gasps slightly. Dennis stops and Ash shakes his head. “Keep going. You’re just so _big_. Feels _so good._ ”

Dennis pushes in more — and more, and more, and more, millimetre by millimetre. Ashley thinks for a wild moment that he’s being split in two, that it will never end, that he’s being impaled on it. It doesn’t hurt but it’s — a _lot_. Intense, incendiary. He’s half-aware Dennis is kissing him again but his entire focus is on the taut rim of his arse, perfectly snug around the broadness of this epic cock, and the feeling of fullness, of his insides being forced to _make room_ , to _rearrange_ and all of a sudden, he can’t, for a moment. Just — needs to _pause_. 

He remembers words, vaguely, says one. “Wait!”

Dennis freezes.

Ashley can’t… he can’t — it’s too much, even with how stretched he is. For a moment he’s panicking, heart pounding, and then Dennis cradles his face and kisses him again. Ashley takes a deep, juddery breath, nods and bears down, and Dennis starts to push in again.

“So thick, so full…” He shudders and clenches on that velvet steel rod and Dennis groans, a deep animal noise wrenched from him. “ _God_.”

And then he feels Dennis’s soft bollocks touch against his tailbone and he smiles at the astonished look on Dennis’s face.

“Oh my god,” Dennis whispers. “I’m _inside you. Oh my god._ ”

“You are.” There are tears shining on Dennis’ cheeks. Ashley brushes them away with a gentle thumb.

“I’m _all the way_ inside you.” 

“You can even fuck me if you want,” Ashley grins.

“Cheeky bastard.” 

But Dennis does pull out, ever-so-slow and Ashley’s eyes roll back in his head. They fuck like that for a while, slow love-making, greased lightning, electric shocks through his whole body every time Dennis drags past the bundle of nerves inside him, filled.

At one point, Dennis pushes in all the way, then leans up and presses on Ashley’s abdomen where the tip of him must be, impossibly high up and both of their eyes widen. Ashley’s blushing again, feels so seen in his naked desire for this man.

They kiss. Ashley’s fingers play, skittering across Dennis’s upper back, tighten every so often on a particularly deep thrust.

“Mmmmm, please, you can fuck me hard now. _Please_ ,” he begs.

“Yeah?” Dennis just withdraws at that glacial pace again. “What if I wanna make it last?”

Ashley groans at him, bats at his shoulder ineffectually. Dennis chuckles.

“Tell me again,” he says. “Tell me you want this.” 

“I want it.” Dennis thrusts into him, a tiny bit more forcefully but not — enough. “ _Fuck_. Harder. Fuck me. _Take me_.” And then Ashley just holds on for the ride as Dennis pounds into him, sublime, divine and he’s seeing stars, breathless, just higher and higher pitched variations of ‘ _oh fuck’_ and _‘yeah, nggghhh’_ and ‘ _fuck yeah, fuck yeah, ohhhh’_ over and over and over again.

For Dennis’s part, he’s like a jackhammer, punctuated only with deep grunts and the occasional, ‘feels so _good_ ’ and ‘Ash… _Ash_ ’.

He’s so big he never fully pulls out and so wide the pressure on Ashley’s walls is constant, building up. Dennis pulls Ashley’s hips up at one point, angling his pelvis for an even deeper thrust and then Ashley reaches some kind of rapture. He’s stuffed full, over and over, transported into throes of unearthly excess, suspended in the eternal perfection of Dennis’s ineffable embrace. 

It’s everything, _everything_ — like seeing the face of God. He tries to look at Dennis and can’t make himself focus, the halo of light behind his head blinding him — at some point, Dennis has pulled Ashley’s hands up above his head, is leaning his full weight on his wrists, holding him down. Ashley strains up to kiss Dennis again, and Dennis lowers himself to meet him on the next stroke, seizes his lips, rough and passionate, and then his eyes fill with fire and his hips impossibly — speed up, Ashley’s cock trapped between them rubbing on Dennis’ warm skin. Dennis throws his head back as his strokes lose rhythm, then bends again to look into Ashley’s eyes, mouth open in shock as he falls over the edge into that infinite abyss and Ashley follows him blindly, clenching down on that wondrous rod buried deep inside him, rippling along the full length of him, his balls pulled up tight, his seed painting their bellies like an offering.

Dennis collapses on top of him, loosening his grip on Ashley’s wrists, heaving breaths.

“Oh. My. God,” says Dennis.

“Unf,” mumbles Ashley. They lie there for a while. Ashley strokes Dennis’s back and down his arm, tracing the edge of St George's shield, the black lines of the tattoo under his fingertips.

“Oh. My Fucking. God,” repeats Dennis.

“I agree,” says Ashley. “A fucking religious experience.”

Dennis wriggles down, lays his head on Ashley's sweaty chest. Plays idly with his hair with lazy fingers. “I can hear your heartbeat,” he says.

“‘M not surprised,” says Ashley.

“Going a mile a minute.”

Ashley cards his fingers through what there is of Dennis’s hair. He hums in agreement.

“Thank you,” Dennis says, into Ashley’s chest hair. 

Ashley tips his chin up, kisses him, soft.

“You’re welcome. It was a terrible hardship on my part. You could probably tell by the way I kept screaming your name and begging you for more.”

“Yeah, all right.” Dennis grins, then falters for a moment. “Seriously, though, I din’t hurt you?”

“Nah, love. Not at all. I’ll feel that in the morning, don’t worry. Feel it for a few days. But in a really _good_ way.”

Dennis settles back down again, his ear pressed to Ashley’s heart. “Gonna sleep now,” he says.

“Fair,” says Ashley. And they do.

* * *

Waking up together for the second morning in a row ought to feel more significant, thinks Ashley, but actually it’s the lack of weirdness that makes it noticeable.

They’ve wrapped up even closer as they slept, legs entangled, snuggled up. They nose into each other, sleepy, and kiss each other awake.

It’s just so comfortable. They just _fit_ each other. He doesn’t dare to follow that thought any further down the path.

Ashley makes a basic breakfast — sausages, eggs, toast. Dennis puts the water to boil. It’s almost domestic. 

They sit at the kitchen counter to eat. Dennis teases Ashley about his red crockery and red teapot to match the red trimmings on the _decor_ (he says it emphasised like that too, like it’s posh — and Ashley supposes it is, really).

And they finally talk about what happened at the squat the night before — they didn’t exactly take time to debrief in the rush of it all when they got home. Ashley offers to go out looking again that night, frustrated that they didn’t find her but also not sure what else to do. Dennis demurs — he’s so grateful that Ashley was willing to go out on that limb for him, but doesn’t want to rope him into more than he’s comfortable doing, not sure what his next step would have to be.

They’ve both got an early shift, so they shower and change, head out together, locking the red door behind them. They kiss goodbye on the street and head in opposite directions. When Ashley turns around for one last look at Dennis before he gets in his car, he finds Dennis turned around to look at him too. They laugh at that, and Dennis blows Ashley a kiss. There’s a warm feeling in Ashley’s chest that’s entirely unfamiliar — but he finds he doesn’t mind it at all.

* * *

They’re in the entryway to the hospital later that day after a drop-off when Ashley bends down to tie his shoelace. Clearly, the angle opens up his shirt a bit more or something because it’s not two seconds before he hears a low whistle from Rachid.

“Impressive hickey, Ashley,” he says. “Surprised I didn’t notice it earlier.”

Ashley stands up with his middle finger already extended in Rachid’s direction and turns to walk away. He gets two steps in when Stuart chimes in.

“Is he walking funny do you think, Rachid?”

“I do think he might be, Stuart. But I’d have to watch properly to be sure. Do another turn for us, will you, Ash?”

“Both of you, shut it, all right?”

“Is he big, then? Dennis? One of your alpha boys?” leers Rachid.

“Oh my god,” says Ashley.

“Cor, I think he is, Stuart. I think he is!” Rachid elbows Stuart with a grin.

Ashley leans back against the wall, puts one foot up behind him, does his best to fake nonchalance.

“You’re so obsessed with this Rachid, I think you should find out for yourself,” says Ashley. “We can buy Sarah a strap-on for your wedding present.”

Stuart turns and looks Rachid up and down appraisingly. “Lad’s got a point,” he says. “You are uncommonly invested in where Ashley puts his dick for a straight boy. Or, as we’ve previously established, where other dicks are put in Ashley.”

“Mother of _God_ ,” exclaims Ashley. “How many times do I have to go through this? I do not want to have conversations of this level of detail with my _co-workers_ about my _sex life_.”

He turns away from them, towards the vending machine, needs to take a moment to calm down before he actually shows them how bothered he is — he’s already said too much. He takes a deep breath — steadying, really, the scent of ammonia and disinfectant, Rachid’s dreadful instant coffee, and under it all the general miasma of ‘old hospital’. He puts his coins into the machine and watches the can of Tango Orange fall to the bottom, momentarily wistful that it isn’t Irn Bru.

He turns back, can opened, ready to drink and face the idiots he works with again when a gurney comes racing in and the three of them push back against the machines to get out of the way. There’s only a second to focus as they zoom past, but it’d be hard to miss the swathe of pink hair and the general lankiness of the unconscious girl’s outflung limbs — that’s Clare. He’d know her anywhere by now.

He fumbles his phone out one-handed, texts Dennis in a rush. _Clare in A &E at LGI. Looked unconscious. What do you want me to do? _

Rachid and Stuart have continued their banter, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, and of course, for them, it hasn’t. Gurneys with unconscious patients go through hospital corridors every day. Ashley anxiously waits for Dennis’s reply, rubs his left foot against his right ankle, worries the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth. 

The text comes through in no time. _Meet you there in five minutes. This is Lachie’s number last I knew. DO NOT LET THEM CALL HER PARENTS._

And then a mobile number, just those eleven digits by themselves, no spaces, copied in a panic.

“‘Scuse me, boys,” says Ashley to Stuart and Rachid. “Comfort break. Talk later, yeah?”

And he heads in the direction the gurney went, to admissions, wondering how in hell he’s going to explain _this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Clerkenwell LGBTIQ homeless shelter in the old fire station](https://lgbtiqoutside.org/) actually exists, which blew my mind when I was looking for somewhere for Clare to be, but in reality it wasn’t established [until 2019](https://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/clerkenwell-fire-station-to-reopen-as-temporary-homeless-shelter-after-five-years-lying-empty-at-a4121816.html). We’ll just ignore that bit of hand-wavy timey-wimey stuff — it’s too perfect. But if you like this story and you’re looking for somewhere to donate to, that would be a good option right now, or look for an LGBTIQ homeless shelter in your own neighbourhood.


	6. Apply mouth to mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like we promised a while back, everyone gets a happy ending. There’s a lot of wish fulfilment in this chapter and I hope it gives you as many warm fuzzies reading it as it did for me writing it. There’s some complicated bits in here and if you’re someone going through your own difficult family stuff right now, especially if you’re trans and closeted and stuck at home in isolation with less than accepting parents, I hope you can find your way to safety soon.
> 
> I’m not a doctor and I’m not a lawyer and I’m not even a social worker, so I need to disclaim in advance that everything you read here about medical care, court dealings and care of a 16-year-old in Britain is entirely based on research and not expertise. If I’ve got something wrong, please let me know and I’ll do my best to correct it.
> 
> This chapter guest stars Parminder Nagra as a young social worker. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my crew of beta readers and just friends-who-help-make-my-fic-better. I know I can be insecure about whether what I’ve written is any good (my psych calls that ‘unrelenting standards’) but I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your assistance.

There’s a crowd of nurses and orderlies fussing around Clare behind a curtain in the pit, setting her up with a pulse oximeter and heart rate monitor, rigging up oxygen and a drip, and all the usual. Ashley finds himself arguing with a doctor while all that’s going on. Well, not so much arguing as being weirdly insistent, and he knows how it must look. The doc, a middle-aged woman with grey hair pulled back in a severe bun, is the kind of no-nonsense person he’s generally intimidated by. He knows the hospital rules, and completely gets that she’s trying to keep him out because he’s said a bit too much about her family to get away with arguing he’s a professional. On the other hand, he really does need to pass some information along to short-circuit a bunch of guessing.

He rubs his whole hand across his face from brow to beard.

“Let me start again,” he says wearily.

The doctor looks at him suspiciously, but she gestures for him to continue.

“Few weeks ago, I attended this girl at the Caxton factory fire. I’ve seen her since and I suspect she’s got an AII. Chemicals in the walls, not sure what, but something. She’s had headaches, coughing, SOB, for more than two weeks.”

“Why in god’s name didn’t you say all that first?” asks the doctor. She calls back through the curtain, “Get a tox screen! Possible smoke inhalation and delayed AII.” She turns back to Ashley. “No idea what chemicals?” 

Ashley shakes his head. “No, but my…” He freezes, halfway through the sentence. _Fuck it_ , he thinks. “My boyfriend is a firefighter, and he was there that night. He might know.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “I see,” she says. “He the one with the family connection for our Jane Doe?”

“Yeah,” says Ashley.

“All right. We’ve got her on 100% oxygen and I’ll get a steroid in there as soon as I get confirmation on the tox screen. We good then?”

Ashley nods. 

“Then scoot along. Not your circus, okay? We’ll want her name and details from your boyfriend before the day’s out.” 

She reminds him of an old headmistress and he’s having trouble not responding, “Yes, ma’am” and backing away slowly.

There’s a commotion from behind the curtain, then, followed by coughing and a metal clang. 

“Some help in here!” yells one of the nurses, and the doctor pulls the curtain back as an orderly comes running over. Ashley sees Clare trying to pull the cannula out of her arm — she’s come to, groggy and confused, then panicked, and now the Hudson mask is around her neck rather than over her mouth where she needs it. Ashley steps across to the bed to try to help steady her, just pure instinct on his part but the second she sees him, she starts trying to hit him.

“Leave me alone!” she rasps. “You and your… vicious _arsehole_ … of a mate!” Her voice is wrecked, dragging breaths in between every few words.

“Clare!” he says, urgently. “Calm down. Just breathe.”

“What the hell is going on?” says the doctor.

“I tole you… I didn’t want… no fuckin’ ‘ospital!” Clare grits out, backed up against the wall by now, her thin T-shirt not much protection against the chill of the room. She tries to take a step towards the door but the adrenaline rush is gone and she sways on her feet and almost stumbles. Ashley puts a hand out, but the nurse catches her first and helps her back to the bed.

“Seriously, Clare,” he starts, “I think you should give Dennis a chance. Just hear him out.”

By this point, Rachid and Stuart have come to investigate either Ashley’s absence or the commotion, or both, and there’s a few other people hanging around as well. 

“I think you should leave,” the doctor tells Ashley coolly, and Ashley nods, glum.

He steps back outside the curtain. 

A young woman with bright, shining brown eyes, and black hair clears her throat as he’s walking towards the lads. “Ashley Greenwick, right?” she says. She’s got a name badge on but she’s in civvies — pencil skirt and a burgundy cashmere cardigan over a white blouse. Very proper. He’s seen her around but can’t place the detail.

“Yes?” he responds. “Who’s asking?”

“Sorry, hi. Kaeya Patel. Social worker.” She reaches a hand out and he shakes it. 

“Okay…” he says, and glances back at Stu, who shrugs at him.

“One of the nurses called me for a consult, suggested I talk to you about…” She checks her notes. “Clare?”

“Did she?” _Clever nurse_ , he thinks. Picking up on that while he was still arguing outside. 

His phone buzzes and he lifts it out of his pocket, checks it surreptitiously. He waves at Kaeya with it when he sees it’s Dennis, and she nods at him.

He answers it.

“Sorry, took longer than I thought,” says Dennis.

“Where are you now?” Ashley asks.

“Out front. They won’t let me back, of course, because I’m not family. What’s happening?”

“She’s conscious. They’ve probably given her a sedative just now. I’m talking with a social worker — you okay for me to bring her out to you?”

“Yeah, makes sense to me,” says Dennis. “If she’s willing to listen.”

He looks at the slight woman in front of him, dressed in her sensible shoes with her sensible bob. “Yeah, reckon she will.”

“See you in a tick then,” says Dennis.

“Aye,” says Ashley, and hangs up. “Um,” he says, to Kaeya. “It’s actually my… boyfriend who knows her, so…” That’s getting weirdly easier to say.

“Oh, no problem,” says Kaeya brightly. And the four of them troop out to the waiting room where Dennis is mooching about near the entrance in his uniform, his hands in his pockets.

“You the boyfriend, then?” she says, when they get close.

Dennis jerks his head up and he says, “I… wot?” before he looks at Ashley, blushes, looks back at her and says, “Yeah. Dennis. Hi,” and shakes her hand.

* * *

“And that’s basically all of it,” says Dennis.

Kaeya is diligently taking notes on her knees, angled towards Dennis on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. By all rights, Ashley should have left by now but by some miracle, their crew didn’t get called out again and now the shift is almost over.

Rachid is still sputtering at Ashley. “You stole gear? You scamp! Some role model you are!”

“I put it back, Rachid, on account of we never ended up finding her, right?”

“I’m devastated,” says Rachid. “I may never recover.”

“It grieves me to say this, Rachid, but serves you right for looking up to me.”

“Can we focus?” says Kaeya. “I need to work out whether I’m legally obligated to call her parents. If she’s 16, I don’t have to if she wants to take out an injunction against them — which I would absolutely recommend if you’re right about the risks to her safety if she stays in that house — but that’s all complicated. She didn’t have any ID on her, if I understand correctly?”

“Course she doesn’t have ID,” says Ashley, sourly. “The details wouldn’t match, would they?” It’s one of the things that infuriates him about the system, how seemingly simple bureaucracy endangers people on the daily.

Kaeya is making that face professionals make when they are trying to pretend they knew something all along but actually they’re kicking themselves. Good. “Don’t suppose you know her birthday off the top of your head?” she says to Dennis.

“Yeah, I do actually. May 16, 1999.”

“You sound very sure,” says Kaeya.

“Yeah, well, she’s three years and three days younger than me so it was always an easy one to remember,” says Dennis.

“Well, that’s good. It means she can apply for an injunction without High Court approval — she’ll just need an adult to represent her on the order. Have you called her brother?”

“I texted him,” says Dennis. “Haven’t had an answer. There’s a… chance he’s blocked me number.”

“Okay,” says Kaeya. “We’ll call him. He’s over 18?”

“Yeah, 19 like me.”

“Okay, well, it can be him if he’s willing to do that or it could be you. Doesn’t have to be family.” She looks at her notes again, and sucks her pen lid. “And then we need to talk about housing. We can possibly release her into her brother’s custody if it comes down to that. And as for the gender stuff, I’ll look into a referral to the Tavistock and talk to the doc about a script. Sorry, just thinking out loud at this point!”

“All good,” says Ashley at the same time as Dennis says, “Lachie still lives at Churchill. Don’t see how that’s gonna work.” 

Kaeya hums, taps her pen against her teeth. “I’ll see what other options there are as backup, yeah?”

“Can we see her, do you think?” asks Dennis. If you didn’t know him, thinks Ashley, he’d just seem like he was concerned, except Ashley can actually see the anxiety behind that question — in the slight twitch of the muscle in Dennis’s jaw, and the way his hands are jammed into his pockets.

“I’ll find out where they’re up to, shall I?” says Kaeya. “I got the impression she wasn’t too keen on seeing you, though.”

Dennis hangs his head. “Yeah, I know. I need to tell her summat, though. Can you ask her at least? Tell her I’m sorry. And maybe text us and let us know?”

Kaeya looks at Dennis kindly, and puts a hand on his knee. “I can.” She heads back to the wards, and Ashley looks at Stuart and Rachid.

“So, shift is over in 15. I’m going to stick around here, obviously. Shall we grab some grub and call it a day?” he says. He scratches the back of his neck with his forefinger.

Stuart shakes his head. “We’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Give you some privacy.” Rachid looks mildly outraged but then resigned. 

“Enjoy your meat and two veg,” he says, smirking, as the pair of them head out the front doors towards their ambulance. Stuart smacks him upside the head for it. “What?” he retorts, rubbing the spot. Ashley rolls his eyes and swears softly under his breath, then turns back to Dennis.

“Food?” he asks. “Like, actual food, not innuendo food?”

Dennis looks at him, appreciative. “Yeah.”

* * *

Lachie’s on his way and Clare’s been admitted when they arrive at the ward. The nurse at the desk, the same one from earlier, indicates the room down the corridor when Dennis shows her the text from Kaeya.

“You’re lucky,” she says. “Clare’s brother confirmed you’re a close friend of the family. I think she’s sleeping though, so don’t disturb her if she is, hear me?”

Ashley nods but Dennis is already walking away, so he hurries after him.

Clare’s woozy but awake when they get there and she rolls her eyes so hard when she sees Dennis she almost sprains something. Ashley is a little unsure how this is going to go, but he hangs out near the door for moral support.

Clare is propped up on three pillows, the bed at an angle so she can’t lie flat. She’s still got a Hudson mask on, with two tubes, one connected to the 100% oxygen in the wall and the other to a corticosteroid. She’s got a pulse ox clip on her forefinger and a drip in her arm. She’s in a hospital gown now, rather than her old clothes, but Ashley’s pleased to see she’s got a little more colour in her face and her lips aren’t blue anymore. The usual machines are beeping their usual comfort, glowing numbers tracking her vitals. He can’t help himself, checks them and is pleased to see her sats are at 92 — it’s not great considering she’s actually on oxygen but it’s better than it was before.

“Apparently you saved my life,” Clare says to Ashley.

“That’s overstating it,” he says, “but you’re welcome.” 

She takes a laboured breath.

“Only reason I agreed to see you.” She turns to Dennis. “Social worker said… you had something to say to me,” she says.

“That’s right,” says Dennis.

“Well, say it… and get out,” Clare says. 

Dennis holds up his hands, placating. “I’ll start with I’m sorry,” he says. “For everything. But there’s more. Can I sit?” He indicates the chair by her bedside. She nods, curtly. He sits.

He swallows. Looks at the ceiling. Blinks tears back and looks back to Clare. 

“Gog’s dead,” he says.

Ashley looks at Dennis, surprised and Clare sits up a bit straighter at that. “Serious?” she says, and then it’s like she remembers that hope is for other people. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. I was there. He can’t hurt you any more.”

“What the fuck do you care?”

“He hurt me too. He hurt a lot of people.”

“Tell me… Tell me how he died.”

“There was a fire. He was drunk.”

“And you were there? You’re a firefighter, ain’t you?” He flinches.

“I saved Emily.”

“Wasn’t it your job to save him too? Your best fucking friend.” Her voice is dripping with disdain, a ragged breath between each accusation. She coughs, hard, holds the mask on her face and breathes in deep.

Dennis’s face is red, his eyes brimming over. Ashley has to look away. The Dennis that Ash was first attracted to is fierce and untouchable. The one he’s gotten to know over the past few weeks is vulnerable and deeply kind. He sometimes wonders that the two aspects share one body and how Dennis can bear it. It cracks something in Ashley open, that he also holds these contradictory selves, that Dennis on one hand arouses an instinct to bare his neck in the face of Dennis’s aggression and on the other hand, triggers a protective streak in him a mile wide.

“Yeah, it was my job,” says Dennis. “And I didn’t. I walked away.” He chokes back a sob. “I let him die.”

‘What the fuck, mate.” Clare is just staring at Dennis now, and Ashley’s heart hurts. This is what Dennis was trying to tell him the other night. Ash wants to wrap Dennis up in his arms again right now and shelter him for life.

Dennis looks across at Clare again, practically pleading with her.

“He was a terrible person. You know that. The things he did to you. The things he would have done to me. If he’d known…”

“Known what?” she asks, and Dennis looks back at Ashley, a watery smile, barely there, reaches out a hand. Ashley steps into that trust, intertwines their fingers, lifts Dennis’s hand and kisses his knuckles. Clare’s eyes widen.

“You fucking _arsehole_.” That just makes Ashley want to put an arm around Dennis and pull him in closer, but he follows Dennis’s lead, gives a covert little squeeze he hopes conveys his meaning, _you just say the word, love_.

“I didn’t know what to do, Clare. I was just a kid too. I’m so, so sorry. That night, at your house. I was — trying to protect you.” She huffs out her disbelief. “Swear down,” he says. “Gog was going to… the things he said…” 

It’s a bloody good thing this Gog fucker is dead, thinks Ashley, because he can think of several different ways to off someone without anyone being the wiser.

“Wotcha,” says a gruff male voice from the doorway, and Dennis drops Ashley’s hand, swipes his wrist across his eyes. Clare looks scared again, shrinks back into the pillows. The guy who walks into the room is six-foot tall, with a shaved head and a scar over one eyebrow. His light grey hoodie has a navy stripe across the shoulders and his charcoal track pants hang loose on his lanky frame.

“Lachie,” Dennis says, standing. Lachie strides into the room like he’s going to give Dennis a bro-hug, clap him on the shoulder, and then he freezes mid-step, seems to take in the odd tableau, looks from one of them to the other, then looks back at Clare.

“Holy fuck,” says Lachie, looking from Clare’s pink hair to the lipstick on her face to the outline of her small breasts beneath the thin hospital shift.

“Hi, Lachie,” says Clare, in a small voice.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Lachie clears his throat. “They said you’re calling yourself Clare.”

“That’s right,” she says, chin up a little, daring him. Lachie looks at Dennis and then at Ashley, looks back at the frail girl in the bed.

“Hi, Clare,” he says, and there’s an odd edge in his voice, choked up, but also soft. “Where the fuck have you been? I been worried sick.”

Ashley nudges Dennis. “We’ll give you some space,” he says to Lachie. “We’ll be in the corridor if you need us,” he says to Clare, and she meets his eyes, grateful.

Ashley makes a point of taking Dennis’s hand again and Dennis squeezes back and goes with him to the door.

Out in the corridor, he slumps against the wall. “Surprised you still want to talk to me,” Dennis says. “Now that you know the truth.”

“Oh, love,” says Ashley. “I can’t even imagine.”

Dennis swipes at his eyes again. “We’re supposed to save people, you and me.”

“Some people don’t deserve it, though. Sounds like he brought that on himself.”

Dennis smiles back at him. “He really was a prick.”

Ashley enfolds Dennis in his arms and Dennis hugs him back, tight. They don’t speak, but they don’t have to. 

They sit on the bench in the corridor and watch the people walk by. Dennis picks at a thread on his pants, and Ashley calls Stuart to update him.

After a while, Lachie comes back out of the room. He’s clearly been crying too — seems like it’s the day for it. He walks up to Dennis.

“Thank you,” he says. “I… fuck. I’m sorry. That’s a conversation that should’ve happened years ago.”

“I know,” says Dennis.

“So what happens now?” asks Lachie.

“I guess,” says Ashley, “that now we go and talk to the social worker, if you’re up for that?”

* * *

“She can’t fucking live with me, can she? I’m still at home with Mum and Da. What planet do you live on that you fink a guy like me has a job pays enuff to have me own place at 19? You lot are just so…” Lachie punches the wall, not hard, but enough that he has to shake his fist out after.

Kaeya puts her hand out to him. “Look, I had to ask,” she says. “So if you agree that home isn’t a safe place for her, are you willing to testify to that for the injunction?”

Lachie looks at Dennis, a little wild. “Is that the only way?”

“Nah, mate,” says Dennis. “I can do it. It’s the least I can do, considering.”

“S’not that I don’t want to,” Lachie says. “I just can’t risk…”

“I get it, mate. It’s all good.” 

“Clare will be here for a week,” says Kaeya. “Emergency injunction is already in train. And that gives us enough time to organise a temporary foster placement.”

“Don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to tell Mum. How’m I s’posed to go home and pretend I still have no clue where Callum is, eh?”

“In a weird way,” says Ashley, “you could honestly tell her Callum’s gone for good and it wouldn’t be a lie.”

Lachie barks out a laugh, rubs at his knuckles. “Okay,” he says, eventually. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” asks Dennis.

“Yeah,” nods Lachie. “Just… let me know where she lands. I’ll… stay in touch but dunno if she’d tell me where she is, and well, I’m still her big bruvver, y’know?”

“I know,” says Dennis.

“Okay,” says Lachie again.

“You can visit again tomorrow,” says Kaeya. Lachie nods, gets up and walks out into the grey night, pulling up the hood on his jacket as the rain starts in earnest. “Let’s get you that paperwork,” she says to Dennis. When that’s all sorted, he looks wearily at Ash. It’s only 9pm but they’re both absolutely wrecked.

“Come home with me?” Ash says.

“Not sure I’ve got the energy,” Dennis sighs.

“To sleep, duffer,” says Ashley, putting his arm around the man. 

Dennis tilts his head against Ashley’s shoulder. “That sounds like fucking heaven.”

* * *

They might not have sex that night but they definitely do in the morning, lazy frotting with Dennis in control and Ashley begging for release by the end of it. Dennis has to duck back home and get clean smalls and face interrogation from Mrs Severs, to which, as he reports gleefully to Ashley, he responded, simply, “S’not a girlfriend” and waggled his eyebrows until she flicked at him with a tea towel and told him to get out of her kitchen with his sass.

The rest of the week consists of methodically working through the toy box, a discussion of safewords and the traffic light system (they both agree it’s bloody daft and spoils the mood to have someone saying ‘green’ constantly but that having someone say ‘lights and sirens’ would be a good way to get the other’s attention quick smart even in the thick of it) and so much kissing he gets stubble rash. 

On day three, Dennis expresses an interest in trying it ‘t’other way ‘round’ as he puts it and Ashley has to explain regretfully that he knows it’s ridiculous and yes, there are lots and lots of folks who are versatile but he’s not one of them, that there’s something about it that squicks him and he just can’t. Dennis is kind of relieved, as it turns out, was offering to ‘be a gentleman’ rather than because of any burning desire, and the end result is Ashley bent over the kitchen table, hands tied behind his back with nipple clamps on, getting shagged senseless and loving every minute of it. They have to eat off that table, so Dennis makes Ashley clean up his mess before dinner, and the reassuring hand on the back of his neck while he’s licking it up makes something in Ashley’s belly flip.

In the evenings, they watch Torchwood reruns on the telly and rib each other about how hot Captain Jack is and what they wouldn’t give to watch him actually fuck Ianto. Dennis turns out to be very good with his hands, and after a long shift, Ashley sits on the floor in front of the couch while Dennis works the knots out of the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

Ashley makes an effort to drop in and say hi to Clare every day for the week she’s there. It can’t be easy, to be practically on her own all the time. She has a couple of visitors — Lachie, twice, and one day, Jake, the boy from the container. He catches them holding hands and Jake’s flushing and scared but keeps his grip fierce like he’s daring Ashley to comment. Ashley’s so glad she’s got people in her corner he couldn’t be happier for them, and says so.

Every day, she gets more words out before she has to pause and wheeze, and on the seventh day, he notices she’s on pure oxygen and no steroids, so she’s doing well. Dennis asks after her every day, but doesn’t visit, as he doesn’t want to crowd her. The hospital and the court have been in touch with him, and he’s given his statement, signed what he’s had to, but he’s still awkward about it all. Finally, Clare asks where the fuck he is and why he hasn’t come to visit her, so that night Ash tells him to get over himself and come see her.

When they arrive, there’s a couple in the room Ashley’s never seen, the guy stout with a red-gold beard and the woman just a touch taller than him, blonde hair back in a bun, and with them is a young girl with strawberry blond hair in a long plait and a set to her that’s a bit like the guy. Kaeya’s also there, mid-explanation of something, as far as Ashley can tell. He starts to say they’ll come back later, when Clare says, “No, stay?”

“Introduce us, then,” says Ashley half to Kaeya and half to Clare. He’s not at all sure who these people are or what’s going on.

Kaeya looks at Clare, and Clare smiles, weakly.

“Um, Ashley, Dennis. This is Rhys and Anwyn and their daughter Carys. I think… I think they’re going to be my foster parents.”

Carys gives a squeal and literally climbs on to the bed with Clare. “I’ve always wanted a big sister,” she says, and Clare’s clearly trying to look tough but her eyes are shining.

Rhys squeezes Anwyn’s hand and smiles at Kaeya. “So, shall we get the paperwork sorted out then?” His soft Welsh accent is a comforting low rumble. 

“Nothing would make me happier,” says Kaeya. 

“Come on, Carys,” says Anwyn. “Let’s get you a sweet or something and let Clare have her visit with her friends.”

Dennis smiles at her and Carys sticks her tongue out, but she goes with her mother. Dennis pulls out the two visitors' chairs near the bed and they sit.

“Well, they look nice,” says Dennis.

“Yeah,” says Clare, happily. “At first I thought, y’know, what the fuck would they know about raising a teenager like me? And then Rhys told me he’s Carys’s birthing parent and well… I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Ah, you’d be surprised, Clare. So many things are possible. I’m really chuffed for ye,” says Ashley.

“So, you great idiot,” Clare says, cuffing Dennis on the shoulder. “Where’ve you been? My knight in shining fucking armour, slaying the dragons, but can’t be bothered to actually front?”

Dennis sputters, “I been busy, orright?” but Ashley can tell he’s well pleased and honestly, Ashley’s so proud of him his heart might burst.

They talk about Churchill Estate, and Clare’s parents and Lachie — she didn’t want to put Lachie in an awkward position, so she hasn’t asked him — and they laugh over Dennis’s imitation of her mother reacting to a huge penis painted right next to the shared laundry. He catches her up on various of the other kids from the estate and from her year at the local. She’s trying to decide whether to go back to school — Kaeya’s told her she could do distance ed if she wants to get her GCSEs, but she’s thinking she might want to do nursing now. Ashley mostly just listens but every so often has to interject, either with astonishment that a story being told actually happened, or to track down who someone is in a very convoluted recounting of Gog’s mother’s cousin’s boss’s nephew, who apparently won something in the National Lottery and paid for Gog’s mother to go on a nice trip to the seaside with her Emily, which god knows they both deserved.

Rhys comes back with Kaeya towards the end of a story about someone’s hen’s night, to find them all guffawing at something, Clare taking gulping breaths and coughing a little, and Kaeya asks if she should get a nurse, which sets them all off again. 

“All set, then?” asks Dennis.

“Yeah,” says Rhys. 

“Doc says you can go home tomorrow, probably, Clare,” says Kaeya.

“Wow,” says Clare, serious all of a sudden. “I… home?”

“That’s right,” says Rhys. “Home. You’ll have your own room and a door that locks to keep out pesky eight-year-olds. Do you want to tell me what size you take? And we’ll make sure we’ve got some nice clothes for you to leave in.”

“I don’t…” begins Clare, and she looks around, eyes landing on the brown paper bag with her belongings in it, realising that those clothes haven’t been washed. “Yeah, actually. That’d be magic. I’ll write it down.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I promise you can go shopping _with_ us on the weekend so you can get some things that are at least a little bit cool.”

“We should be going,” says Dennis.

“Okay,” says Clare, and then looks up suddenly. “Write down your number, Dennis. I want you to come visit me, yeah? No excuses.”

“Yeah, orright,” says Dennis, and he scrawls his digits on the notepad beside her bed.

“You’re the litigation friend, aren’t you?” says Rhys. “Thank you, for doing that for Clare.”

“Don’t mention it,” says Dennis, all ornery spikes and self-deprecation. “Come on, Ash.”

Out in the corridor, Ashley can’t help the adoring looks he keeps giving Dennis.

“What?” says Dennis eventually. “‘Ave I got summat on my face?”

“Nah,” says Ashley warmly. He reaches over and takes Dennis’s hand, and they walk back to Ashley’s car. It’s just on sunset, the sky filled with pinks and dusky purple over the buildings. Ashley stops Dennis as they get to the door, leans him up against his little VW Golf, threads his fingers through both of the boy’s hands.

“Hey,” he says, gently. He leans in, presses his lips softly to Dennis’s mouth, the warm caress as Dennis parts his lips and tilts his head ever so slightly. 

“Hey yourself,” says Dennis.

“I think I love you, Dennis Severs,” says Ashley, and then his own eyes widen slightly. He didn’t entirely mean to say that out loud, but now it’s out there, he realises he means it, completely, realises that’s the weird feeling that’d been careering around in his chest all day.

He watches Dennis’s eyes filled with tears, watches him swallow, hard, watches him search his face, that familiar move Dennis does, looking for reassurance, hoping for solid ground to trust in. Ashley stands steadfast in the face of all that, willing Dennis to see him.

“Well, fuck,” says Dennis. 

“It’s okay…” starts Ashley, thinking _you don’t need to say it back_.

“No, shut up,” says Dennis. “I love you too. Known that for weeks. Just…” He looks away, blinks into the fading light, looks back. ‘Thank you for choosing me,” he says.

And Ashley envelops him, tight and warm, a small wild noise escaping from his throat, the enormity of it all bubbling up from him. “You’re such a good man, Dennis. It was easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the relative lack of sex in this chapter — rest assured, the epilogue is pretty much entirely porn. 
> 
> If you are young and trans and need help, here is a list of LGBTIQA+-friendly hotlines around the world: <https://liamrcarter.wordpress.com/2015/09/05/list-of-lgbt-friendly-helplines-worldwide/>
> 
> Stay safe, stay with us. I promise it gets better.


	7. Recovery position

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe this is over. I know it’s been a lot shorter than the epic RPF I wrote but it’s only my second chaptered fic, so it still feels very full-on. 
> 
> This one's all written by me — Phoenix. No one else is to blame for the over-the-top mess you are about to read. I want to thank C for indulging me in this crazy idea to start with, for co-writing the first two-thirds with me and for beta reading the rest. I want to thank J & Em for beta reading and brainstorming and talking about our dreams for queer youth. I also want to thank all the fic authors who inspire me to write better — at the moment that's [musette22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musette22/pseuds/musette22), [HaniTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash) and [portraitofemmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitofemmy/pseuds/portraitofemmy) but there have been many, many of you.
> 
> It feels odd publishing this at the moment — really indulgent and privileged, given *everything* that’s going on. I hope, though, that it provides some pleasure and distraction in the midst of a dark night. Seriously though, bless everyone who works at the NHS and in the health system everywhere in the world right now. Also, black lives matter and trans lives matter and please everyone, take care of yourselves and stay safe.
> 
> PS: For those who haven’t watched Sirens or aren’t British, an ICE is someone’s In Case of Emergency contact. It’s a flippant conversation — there is no emergency.

“Come in! Come in!” says Dennis. “What’re you even doing in town?”

“Like I’d miss this party?” says Stuart, mock-outraged. “Our Ashley, making a _commitment_?”

“Ha ha,” says Dennis. “I’ve only moved in — we’re not getting married or naught.” He laughs. 

“Oh, give it time,” says Stuart. “I’ve got bets on it.”

Stuart threads his way through the crowd to find Ashley, and gives him a bear hug when he reaches him.

“How's the job going, then? Almost a year in,” Ashley asks Stu, when he lets him go.

“You’d hate it,” says Stu. “You definitely made the right decision following your cock into dewy-eyed domesticity instead of taking this promotion.”

“I definitely did,” says Ashley. “Haven’t regretted it for a second.” He looks over to where Dennis is giving Trish a big kiss on the cheek and patting Kev on the back as he ushers them into the party. He’s beaming from ear to ear and he knows it. Dennis meets his gaze and beams back. 

“You’re so gone on that boy,” says Stuart. “Dibs on best man.”

“Well, considering you're not my ICE any more, I guess you need a consolation prize.”

“Wait, what? I was your ICE? Since when?”

“Oh, no, that’d be telling. Forget I mentioned it. Head on in, beers are in the kitchen.” Stuart shakes his head at Ashley but spots Rachid and Sarah next to the stove and wanders over.

Ashley takes a moment to look around — there are little indications of Dennis’s presence everywhere and it makes him so happy. On the red couch is a cushion Dennis’s mum gave them, white with a brown trim, some kind of plant embroidered in the middle of it, little geegaws on the bookshelves, his fireman’s coat hanging on the hook in the corridor. He isn’t sure what he did to deserve the man, but he’d pay good money to find out so he can keep doing it.

“Good to see you, Ash!” says Kev, bringing him out of his reverie. 

“Kev! Thanks for coming. And you must be Trish — pleased to meet you!”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she says. “Once he got up the guts to tell us you existed, he never stopped talking about you.”

“Only good things, I hope?” Ashley knows the full story now — knows about Rosa’s baby, and Kev’s burns, the tunnel fire and Dennis’s death wish there for a while. Knows it’s these two who looked after him, in the end, against all sense or logic, brought him back enough to make him want to keep going, at least, so that there was enough of him still standing when Ashley met him to take those final healing steps.

“You’re good for him,” says Kev, “That’s all that matters to me.” 

The party spills out of the kitchen and living room eventually into the tiny courtyard. Ash goes looking for Dennis at one point and finds him outside with Clare and Jake. The night smells of nicotine and the pungent jasmine flowering on the fence. Ashley bums a fag off his boyfriend and lights it, draws in the welcome smoke.

“Watch it,” laughs Dennis. “I got a lecture from our Clare here about damaging our lungs.”

“Did’ye, now?” Ashley smiles. He looks appraisingly at the girl — she’s much more sturdy on her feet now, well fed and just generally happier. “Bitter ex-smoker?”

“Oh, shut it,” she says, friendly. “That’s right, I’m not allowed any more so no one else is neither, okay?” Jake rolls his eyes and appeals to the other two for support but they both hold their hands up in surrender.

“You’re no help!” he says, but he sneaks his arm around Clare all the same.

Lachie comes over to them and, seemingly apropos of nothing, says — urgently, drunkenly, “I’ve got to get out, Clare. I can’t hack it anymore.”

She looks quizzically at him. “We ain’t been here long, but okay. I’ll get me coat…”

“Wot?” he says. “Nah, nah. Of home. I want parties like this. I want a fucking life.” There’s something about the way Clare, Jake and Dennis move, then, the three of them edging slightly closer to Lachie, like they’re closing ranks around him, protective, supportive, their faces sympathetic, understanding.

“Wondered how long that would take,” says Clare. “Mum still banging on about seminary school, then?”

“I’m not going to be a fucking priest,” says Lachie, morosely. “I won’t.”

“You’d make a hot priest,” says Dennis and Ashley looks scandalised and cuffs Dennis on the shoulder.

“Look, there’s a program for kids leaving care who want to go to university that Rhys told me about,” says Clare. “It kicks in when I’m 18 and the foster placement lapses. It’s enough money for my part of the rent. We could get a place together?”

“I’d be eligible for that too, now, wouldn’t I?” asks Jake.

“Only if you actually apply for a course, dummy,” says Clare.

Jake shrugs. “Do they have courses for art? I wouldn’t mind doing summat like animation…”

“They definitely do,” says Dennis.

“You wouldn’t be able to stay on with Rhys and Anwyn?” Ashley asks Clare.

“It’s not like they’re throwing me out,” says Clare, “but I’m soooo ready to spread my wings. It were a bit tough adjusting to rules and bullshit after so long on my own.” 

“You still planning for nursing?” asks Ash.

Clare smiles shyly. “Yeah, I am.”

“Let me know if you need me to put in a good word with the hospital when it comes time for your placement, okay? I’ll make sure you get assigned to the good wards.”

“That’s years away,” says Clare. “One step at a time!” 

“Sounds amazin’, though,” says Dennis. He can’t help smiling in the face of all that enthusiasm. 

There’s a commotion from inside the house, and Rachid’s voice comes loudly through.

“I have an announcement!” he says. “Gather ‘round, you plebeians.” Ashley looks at Dennis, who shrugs, but they head back into the living room.

Rachid is standing on a chair, beer in hand, with a loose circle of all their friends around him.

“First of all,” he says, “a toast to Dennis, who’s made an honest man out of our Ashley. The young men of the local counties are now safe, and hopefully I will never again be called upon to rescue the man after a tryst gone wrong.”

Dennis raises his eyebrows at Ashley and Ash whispers, “I’ll tell you later.”

“To Dennis and Ashley!” Rachid cries, and raises his beer.

“To Dennis and Ashley!” cry the crowd, raucous and happy, and then there’s the sound of glasses clinking and the chatter rises again, until Rachid’s voice can be heard over them again.

“All right, all right. Enough of them. The _important_ news is still to come.” He pauses dramatically and sways slightly on the chair. There’s an ominous creaking sound. A few hands go up to steady him but he waves them away. He raises his beer at the crowd again. “As you know, a few months ago, I got married to Sarah, the most beautiful girl in the world. And I just found out that we’re having twins!”

There’s a gasp from a few people and a cheer goes up. Maxine says to Sarah, loudly, “I spotted the soft drink but I didn’t want ter say nothing, in case it were still a secret, like. Well done, love!” 

Sarah smiles and pats her belly. “Let’s be clear, with two in there, I wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer anyhow!”

Ashley calls out, “To Sarah and the twins!” and everybody drinks, even as Rachid complains, “Why not me? Why aren’t we drinking to me?” and Stuart says, “Because patriarchy, my darling,” and Rachid blinks at him, far too drunk to process that, raises his beer and says, “To Sarah and the twins!”

It’s at that point, of course, that Ashley’s cheap-arse wooden chair collapses under Rachid’s weight, one leg just snapping clean in half. Rachid ends up on his butt, with serious bruises only to his dignity. Stuart and Kev help him up, and brush him off, and he pouts that his misfortune is being treated as brilliant slapstick.

“When are you due?” Trish asks Sarah, as everyone returns to their little chats. Dennis had mentioned he hoped Trish and Maxine would get to chat — they’ve got some things in common, strong women surrounded by a lot of men — and Ashley’s pleased to see his friends have welcomed her in.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully — a few of the blokes end up playing video games on the couch and there’s some kind of raucous drinking game going on in the kitchen. 

“I’d better get these two home,” says Lachie, when it’s approaching midnight. He sounds slightly more sober than he was earlier, at least. “After all, technically, they’re still under-age.”

“Oi,” says Jake, “I’m 18 next month!”

“Exactly like I said,” says Lachie.

Clare hugs Dennis tightly. “You’ll come to my graduation next week, like you promised?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” says Dennis.

A few hours later, they usher out the stragglers and look around their living room. There’s bottles and paper plates on every surface, empty glasses scattered all over, including one on its side on the rug near the games console. The kitchen sink is piled with plates and the bin is overflowing with colourful packages and one of those foil trays that mini-apple danishes come in, folded roughly in half and crammed in on its end. The entire house smells of beer and stale cigarette smoke. Dennis slings his arm around Ashley’s waist.

“We’ll clear it up in the morning,” he says. “Need to get some rest, you do. I’ve got something special planned for you tomorrow afternoon.”

Ashley looks curiously at Dennis, kisses him tenderly on the forehead. “Mmmm, that sounds intriguing.” He leans in to plant more soft kisses on Dennis’s luscious mouth and pulls aways again. Dennis chases his lips, pulls him back in, his fingers a circle around Ashley’s wrist.

“Bed,” says Dennis.

“Bed,” agrees Ashley, quietly. “Good grief, though. Two tiny Rachids running around like little monsters. It’s like some kind of nightmare.” 

* * *

Dennis apparently wasn’t kidding about ‘something special’.

Ashley squirms again, flexing against the red rope that is wrapped tight around his chest and arms, keeping his legs apart, the combination of the firm rope harness and the sling making it hard for him to move at all really. He relaxes into it, held safe, mind still. He moans around the ball gag in his mouth as Dennis slowly slides the plug back into his arse and the vibrations intensify again.

“Mmm,” says Dennis, running a hand down behind him to check Ashley’s bound hands again and the small stress ball he’s clutching tight. “So stunning. Now, you remember: if it all gets too much, you can just drop the ball.” 

Ashley nods, impatient. They’ve had this discussion a few times already, and he just wants to sink into the warm fug of subspace, doesn’t want to _think_. He breathes in, unsteady, but relaxing into it. The room is warm, and Dennis smells like cinnamon and vanilla. 

Dennis traces his fingertips across Ashley’s left nipple, perky and framed as it is by red rope. God, he’s so sensitive there already, his nubs so sore. Dennis pinches and soothes, fits his lips to the right one and sucks, flicking his tongue against the tip. “Please,” groans Ashley, muffled behind the gag.

“Please what, my darlin’?”

“Please, please. Please touch my cock again. Please!” Ashley can hear that the words are barely intelligible, none of the ‘Ps’ or ‘Ts’ clear at all. He feels so helpless with that, even more at Dennis’s mercy than usual, and his cock throbs again, the tip red and wet.

“God, you’re dripping so much, love. Just soaking.” Dennis drags a finger through it, rubs it down Ashley’s shaft, just teasing. Ashley pushes out towards Dennis’s hand. “Oh, you want that, do you baby?” 

Ashley nods, pleads with his eyes.

“Ask me again, baby.”

“Please. Please, can I have your hand on my cock.”

Dennis encircles Ashley’s dick with his palm, wanks him, slow at first and then faster until Ashley is babbling, begging, says, “Oh my gob, I’m gonna come,” and Dennis takes his hand away immediately. Ashley’s entire body is bowed towards that hand, straining, desperate. “No, no, no, _please…_ ” Dennis turns the vibrator down to its lowest setting.

“You’re so _fucking_ beautiful like this, Ashley. You have no _idea_ ,” says Dennis, gentling a hand down Ashley’s thigh. Tears prick at Ashley’s eyes as he thrusts into thin air, chasing any kind of sensation on his rock-hard cock. He’s back to mindless, barely aware of what he’s saying, his entire consciousness focused on one area only.

Dennis bends his head down between Ashley’s legs, extends his tongue and gently licks at Ashley’s swollen purple tip. “Oh god yeah,” mumbles Ashley, “Put it in your mouth, suck me, _fuck._ ”

“You gotta ask nicely, baby,” says Dennis, all innocent offense. “Say ‘please’.”

“Please,” begs Ashley. _Leafe,_ it sounds like, and a shudder of pleasure-shame goes through him again.

“My mouth is right here, baby. I reckon you could reach it if you really wanted it,” says Dennis.

Ashley arches towards him, pushes his cock as far as he can reach, contorting himself in pursuit of that wet heat, can only get the tip of it in, held back by the bite of soft rope coiled around his thighs, his torso, and fastened firmly to the sling. He collapses back, defeated and on the verge of real tears when Dennis takes pity on him, lunges forward and sinks down his length entirely and it feels absolutely fucking incredible. Dennis bobs up and down on him a few times, then Ash feels the plug leaving his arse again, feels himself stretch wide around it as it flares out and then it’s pushed back in deep and the tip hits his prostate and fuck those vibrations make him see stars. “Yeah, fuck my hole, fuck! Dennis!” 

Dennis sucks him down again, pulling the plug all the way out again, stretching his rim so wide. 

He groans, shameless. “Please put it back in… ohhhhh _fuuuuck_ ,” he moans, as it slides home again. 

He’s exultant within seconds, climbing that sensation to the grand heights of ecstasy, and he feels his balls tighten, moans, “Oh, please, so close, gonna come…” and Dennis pops off with a wet slurp and Ashley whines, a noise of dismay and frustration.

“Breathe, my darlin’,” says Dennis. He looks appraisingly at Ashley, walks around him again. “I can’t believe you let me do these beautiful things to you, my love. Such a gorgeous gift, this. Can do whatever I want, can’t I?” He strokes down Ashley’s shoulders, kisses the back of his neck. He brushes damp curls off his forehead. Ashley follows him with his eyes, breathing in deep, and tuning in to the soothing voice of his lover. He starts to float again, settles down. The ropes around him are steadying, solid.

Dennis hums, as if he’s thinking. “Shall we do that again, then?” he asks, offhand, as if it’s rhetorical.

Ashley shakes his head, frantic, is doing his best to say, “No, no, please let me come,” muffled behind the gag.

Dennis comes around to the front of Ashley again, and cocks his head. “If you really meant that,” he says, gently, “you’d drop that ball, right?” He pauses, and waits for Ashley to make eye contact, to swim up into some sort of consciousness, waits for the nod. _Oh god_ , Ashley wants to come so badly, but it’s not his decision. “If you dropped it right now, it wouldn’t mean it was all over. You could stay all snug in your ropes and I’d let you come.” 

It’s so tempting. Oh Jesus fuck, it’s soooo tempting. He wants it. The throbbing insistence between his legs, the tightness in his nuts. He can feel the ball in his hand, how easy it would be to open his fingers. His arse clenches around the plug and he feels the resulting shudder down to his toes. Dennis lays a tender hand on Ashley’s calf, waits to see if he’ll drop the ball. He doesn’t.

“So, if I understand this correctly, you hate that you want this, but you’re not going to stop me, are you?” Ashley shakes his head, miserable even as he knows that when he lets it be Dennis’s decision, it’s always better. He’s not sure how much more he can take, but he loves this, loves Dennis. _I’m yours, Dennis, yours,_ he thinks _._ Tries to tell him that with his eyes.

“You’re just going to take what I give you like a good boy, aren't you?” Ashley nods, blushing, so hot under his skin. That’s exactly it, _exactly_ what he loves about this: that he just takes what he’s given and what Dennis gives him is sweet torture. 

Dennis grins, wickedly. “Let’s go again, then.” He turns up the vibrator and reaches over to the toybox, grabs a crystal fleshlight and slots its tip over Ashley’s dripping glans and down slowly over his hard length. Ashley’s eyes roll back in his head and it’s only five or six strokes before he’s gibbering again, head lolling back, sparks flying across his entire surface. He’s light-headed, remembers vaguely he needs to ask for permission, and almost too late, says, “Please sir… _so close…_ ” and Dennis pulls the sleeve off of him and says with a smile, “ _Sir_ , huh? That’s new,” and Ashley is so far gone, all he can do is whine.

Dennis slides the sticky softness back down him and just holds it there, his cock enveloped in warm pressure but it’s not _moving_ and _oh god_ , he needs it to _move_.

Dennis drags it off him again, drops it to the side, leans down and wraps a hand in his hair to pull his head up a little. Dennis kisses the side of his mouth firmly, next to the gag, and Ashley strains up to kiss back, greedy, helpless — can’t. Dennis pulls back, looks Ashley in the eye, filled with love and wonder, his hands stroking, stroking, stroking up and down Ashley’s chest and belly.

“I think I want to fuck you now. Would that be okay?” he asks. Ashley nods frantically. Like there’s any other answer. “But I want you to keep vibrating like this, so prettily. How am I going to manage that, hmm?” 

He steps away again, to look through the toy box and the sudden absence of his body makes Ashley feel colder somehow, even though he was only stretched across him for the briefest moment. 

“Ah ha!” says Dennis, and he turns back around, brandishing a cock ring they bought a little while back but haven’t really used yet. It’s yet more transparent soft silicon, this time with holders on each side for a bullet vibe, which Dennis tucks into their slots then flicks the switch to check they’re working. Ashley can hear the wicked buzz from five feet away and the thought of those on his sensitive flesh _now_ makes him shiver all over.

Dennis generously adds a little more lube on the inside of the ring, gently pulls back Ashley’s foreskin and slides the band over his cockhead, down almost half way and then tugs it back up to sit snugly under Ashley’s frenulum. Ashley is grinding his hips in slow circles with anticipation, feels the plug in his arse shifting as he does. Dennis turns the vibrations on and Ashley jackknifes in his restraints, convulses, moans, “Ohhhhh fuck, oh _fuck_ , _ohhhhhh_ fuck…” as the intensity grows and the buzz is audible and felt through his entire being.

Dennis pulls his legs back even further with the rope, spreading them, exposing his hole even more. He’s so vulnerable, he’s so _present_ , so aware of every millimetre of his skin. Dennis slowly removes the plug, slipping it out, and when it’s gone, Ashley feels empty, loose.

“Oh my god, Ash. You’re gaping open.” He shoves two fingers straight in, and Ashley hums — raw, wanting, hungry. Dennis takes his hand away again and spits _into_ Ashley’s arsehole, fucks Ashley a few more times with his fingers. Ashley feels the slightly warmed drip of more lube trickle inside him, lifts his head to see Dennis taking himself out of his pants — he’s huge and hard, purple veins bulging around that dauntingly thick shaft. “Reckon I’m just going to give you this, darlin’. I reckon you can take it. It’s going to be a lot though, even though you’re stretched so wide.”

Ashley wants that so badly. He tries to say it, but he’s drooling so much now around the ball in his mouth, it’s hard to make himself clear. Dennis finally takes pity on him and removes the gag. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please, Dennis, please. Please fuck me. _Please_.”

Dennis smiles at him, soft, like they haven’t been doing this for literally hours. “Of course, baby. And you can let go of the ball now, with the gag gone. Let your hands relax a bit, yeah?” Ashley nods, drops it, flexes his fingers, feels so cared for.

Dennis lines himself up, fits the enormous head of his massive cock to Ashley’s dripping, pulsing entrance and slides ever-so-slowly into Ashley’s lax channel, taking it immediately to its limit, rim stretched tight around Dennis’s prodigious girth.

“Ohhhh, Jesus Christ, so big, so much, fucking hell, _yessssssss_ ,” babbles Ashley.

“Nghgh, _Ash_ , the way you take my cock, like you’re fucking _made_ for it,” says Dennis. He sinks all the way to the hilt in one smooth movement, filling Ashley completely. 

“Oh my god, Ashley, I can feel you vibrating, fuck, I’m not going to last,” Dennis grits out, voice straining with the effort.

As Dennis starts to fuck in and out of him, Ashley’s intelligence flees entirely and his words devolve into high-pitched rhythmic grunts. 

“I’m not hurting you, baby?” asks Dennis, slowing a little.

“No, don’t stop, don’t stop,” moans Ashley. ”It’s just a lot, it’s a lot, a lot, oh my _godddddd_ , you’re so _big, oh fuuuuuck_.” He’s so full, so full. He luxuriates in it, revels in a surfeit of pleasure, transported in yielding abandon.

Dennis runs a hand across the red of the ropes across his chest. “God, you’re such a slut for this, aren’t you? My big cock splitting you in two.”

“Ohhh, fuck yes,” says Ashley, “Fuck, I love your cock _so much_.” He’s drunk on it, trance-like.

“Maybe you should thank me, then,” says Dennis, cheeky as fuck, spanking Ashley on one buttock, a sudden sting that makes Ashley gasp. Ashley _is_ grateful though — so incredibly grateful, so loved, so held, tight in his ropes, impaled on this magnificent cock, so he nods, tries to concentrate again.

“Thank you. Thank you, Dennis, for fucking me, thank you for taking care of me… _ohhhhh_ , fuck.”

Dennis pounds into him, stuffing him full to the brim over and over again. He’s grunting out his pleasure, leans up at one point and sinks his teeth into Ashley’s pec, just the right pressure, a perfect bright spot of sharp intensity, worries at the bite a little, growling into his chest. It’s everything, it’s too much, jamming into his prostate at just the right angle again and again, the vibrations on his cock relentless and he needs… he needs…

“Oh fuck, _please let me come_ ,” he begs, for the thousandth time tonight. “Please touch my dick again. _Please._ ” 

Dennis doesn’t let up, rams him to the hilt on every stroke. Ashley is starting to see stars, embraced by some divine truth, his flesh savouring unearthly bliss. 

“You can come on my cock, baby. I know you can. Go on, do it. Come for me.” 

He slams in one more time and every nerve in Ashley’s body is alight, the floodgates open. Holy! Holy! Holy! Dennis’s cock is his church and this is his genuflection. He will worship at the altar of sensual excess, surrender to passion and _ohhhhhhh fucking god in heaven_ he’s coming and coming and coming. His arse clenching around Dennis’s cock tips _him_ over too, and Dennis’s thrusts stutter as he growls out, “Mine, _mine,_ ” fingers digging into Ashley’s hips, hard enough to bruise. Ashley is still going when Dennis is done, weak spurts of white dribbling out of him, the vibrations still tormenting his oversensitive flesh. 

“Oh, my love,” coos Dennis with amazement, “So much…” and Ashley vaguely feels the vibrations slow and stop before he drifts off all together, utterly spent.

* * *

He wakes up to Dennis carefully untying the ropes and soothing the marks with gentle hands. He feels warm and heavy, absolutely sated.

“Hey there, beautiful,” says Dennis.

“Mmmf,” says Ashley.

Dennis chuckles and deftly wraps that length of rope into a figure eight, twists an end around the middle of it, and starts on the next one.

“Was I out long?” asks Ashley.

“Nah, few minutes at most,” says Dennis.

Ashley pulls his hands around to the front of him and flexes his fingers. Dennis lifts up a cup of water and Ashley nods, so Dennis supports his head and holds the rim to his lips to drink. It’s cool and fresh and it clears his head a little. 

“I love you,” he says.

“Well, if water’s all I need to provide to get that…” Dennis quips.

“Idiot,” says Ashley, and Dennis kisses him on the temple. 

“I love you too,” says Dennis.

Dennis methodically removes the rest of the ropes and checks Ashley for rope burns or any circulation issues. Ashley almost wants to tease him about being too damn cautious since the shibari workshop they did down at the community centre but he’s actually glad they know more about what they’re doing these days. Dennis brings a warm face cloth over and cleans Ash’s belly with careful, broad sweeps of it, cleans his cock, perfunctory and attentive to the possibility it’s oversensitive, the other hand tracing up and down Ash’s side or limbs in long, soothing strokes.

“All set?” Dennis asks, and Ashley nods.

Dennis helps him up and off the sling, waits while Ashley leans hard for a moment until he gets his legs under him again.

“I know we said no gifts,” begins Dennis, hesitant, “but I got you something anyway.”

Ashley turns to face this gorgeous man, sets both arms across his shoulders, links his hands behind his neck. “Did ye now?” 

He leans in, and catches Dennis’s lips in a soft kiss, tilts his head and slides his tongue along the inside of Dennis’s soft mouth. Dennis moans, and kisses him back, lips parting, tongue chasing Ashley’s, soft and so loving. He pulls away with a gentle smile.

“Uh huh. Come into the lounge — dessert first.”

Ash realises that Dennis never actually got undressed through all of that, and he has a moment where he thinks he should at least grab a pair of briefs, but Dennis tuts at him when he goes to pick up a pair. 

“You uh… up for playing for a little while longer?” he asks and Ash is curious but calmer than he’s been in weeks, so completely ready for whatever it is Dennis has planned.

“”M tired, but yeah, always happy for you to take the lead, my love.”

He takes his hand and they wander out of the bedroom. Ash is mildly surprised to see that the sun has set while they’ve been otherwise occupied, and when he sees the generous slices of lemon tart Dennis has set out on the bench, he realises he’s starving.

They eat on the couch, Ashley leaning against Dennis, between his strong thighs, naked where Dennis is still dressed in his slacks and tight T-shirt. It’s occasionally awkward as Dennis has to lean around Ashley to eat from his own plate but the tart is just the right balance of sweet and zesty, creamy in texture with crumbly pastry. Neither of them are hard, and there’s no pressure, no rush, just the casual comfort of being together. When they’re done, Dennis takes both their plates and stands up.

“I’m going to take care of these, baby. Can you just kneel on that cushion and be a good boy for me?” 

As always, the words send a frisson through Ashley. He sighs happily and settles down to wait for Dennis to return, hands resting on his knees, his soft cock between his thighs just touching the fabric beneath him. He zones out a little, enjoying the warm fatigue in his muscles, the slack sensitivity of his well-fucked arse.

Dennis comes back with a small square box in his hands, about the size of a bread plate. He sits back on the sofa and looks Ashley up and down, appraisingly.

“God, but you’re a stunner, my darlin’. How did I ever get so lucky?” He runs a thumb across Ashley’s lower lip and Ashley parts his lips, sucks it in, licks across the tip. His thumb tastes a little still of lemon tart, and a little just of Dennis, that warm earthiness that is just him alone. Dennis’s eyes twinkle at him and Ashley sinks a little back into subspace, all sparkles and happy calm. It’s not like he ever got far out of it really — the aftercare sliding seamlessly into the next scene, if that’s what this is. Dennis’s voice brings him back. “Don’t go too far under too quickly, my love. I need you here for this next bit.”

Ashley opens his eyes, realises he doesn’t remember closing them. “I’m here,” he says, pliant.

Dennis picks up the box again and opens it. He lifts out a circle of red suede and black leather, adorned with a big silver ring at the front and silver eyelets stamped into the red suede tongue. For a moment, Ash can’t process what he’s seeing and then, with a rush of affection, he gets it. It’s a collar. It’s an actual collar, it’s fucking _stunning_ and it matches his fucking red ropes. The emotion wells up inside him and he feels the wetness on his cheeks before he even realises he’s weeping.

Dennis thumbs a tear away, and lifts Ashley’s head gently with his pinky and ring finger under his chin. “Oh, baby,” he says, incredibly fond. “Is this okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Ashley chokes out, through a throat that’s somehow decided to close up completely.

Dennis unbuckles it, opens the collar and holds it out towards Ashley’s neck.

“Will you be mine, love? Let me take care of you?”

“I am yours,” says Ashley. “Willingly. For as long as you’ll have me.” He lifts his head, bares his neck. God, it feels like the bravest, hardest thing he’s ever done, this trust, this love. He’s shaking. His heart is so _full_.

“So beautiful, submitting to me like this,” says Dennis quietly, as he leans forward and buckles the collar behind Ashley’s head. Ashley leans into the hand that caresses his hair and his cheek on the way back past, turns to kiss Dennis’s palm. “Happy anniversary, baby,” says Dennis.

Ashley smiles back at him, completely at peace, Dennis’s collar solid and grounding on his neck. “Happy anniversary, love,” he says back.

“So, I thought,” says Dennis, “since you’ve already had a very big day, that we could just sit here like this for a while, maybe watch summat on the telly, yeah?”

“That sounds brilliant,” says Ashley.

“If you get bored, maybe you can be a good cockwarmer for me, or something. But not yet. Turn around.”

The thought of sitting here for hours with Dennis’s cock stretching his mouth and not being allowed to move makes his face flame. He’s glad of the excuse to turn away, so he shifts around, a little awkward, still on his cushion but now facing the television screen. 

Dennis arranges himself behind him on the couch, gets a hand into Ashley’s hair and starts scritching a little at his nape. Ashley lets himself fall into it, the way Dennis keeps letting his fingers trail possessive over the collar like he can’t believe it’s there either. It’s like a dream come true, him on his knees, collared, naked, while Dennis strokes his hair — exactly how he pictured it.

Dennis picks up the remote control, turns the TV on, and presses play. 

“So,” Dennis says, running his fingers across the collar again. “The movie’s a new one, just come out. It’s called _Kingsman_. Think you’ll love it, hon. The guy in it is just your type, I reckon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The collar can be found here](https://www.lucreziadesade.com.au/product/3-d-ring-collar-suede-leather-non-locking/). I’m sure there are others like it, but I’m basing it on mine which is exactly this one but purple. There are matching wrist and ankle cuffs too and they’re super comfortable.
> 
> The grant for kids exiting care is real — most Western countries I believe have something similar. If you’re a teenager in the foster system, check it out. Often it’s a grant you don’t have to pay back.
> 
> I'd like to thank the porn makers at Men On Edge and porn actor Wesley Woods in particular for reference material used in this chapter hahahaha omg.
> 
> And yeah, you might have noticed this is the second of my fics to end with a sub on their knees in a very domestic scene having their hair stroked. What can I say? I'm single and I'd really love that right now... (Prospective doms looking for a good boi, please apply at my tumblr hahahaha — I’m mordwen over there)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> We live for comments and kudos — drop us some love!
> 
> And if you want to chat, come find us on tumblr where we are [applesfallingfromblondehair](https://applesfallingfromblondehair.tumblr.com/) (C) and [mordwen](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/) (Phoenix).


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